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|[tto aui fractiral ^pUn\ 



OF THE CULTURE OF 



VOICE AND ACTION, 



AND A COMPLETE ANALYSIS OF 



THE HUMAN PASSIONS, 



APPEls^DIX OF EEADKGS AID EECITATIOXS. 



DESIGNED FOR 



PUBLIC SPEAKERS, TEACHERS, AXD STUDE^fTS, 



r 

PROF. J. E. FROBISHER. 



EARNEST EXPRESSION : NOT DELICATE DECLAMATION. 




KEW YORK . .^ ._;,. ,.-^^.,^,, - 



IVISON, PHINNEY, B L A K E M A N, & C ., 

47 & 49 GREENE STREET. 
S. C. GRIGGS & CO., CHICAGO. 

1867. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 

IVISON, PHINNEY, BLAKEMAN, & CO., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, 

for the Southern District of ISTew York. 



PREFACE 



Having been professionally engaged a number of years, as 
a Eeader in Public, and also as a Teacher of Elocution in 
New York, I have frequently been consulted with reference 
to various works upon the subject. "Wiien a thorough inves- 
tigation, a complete analysis was desired, I have lieartily 
recommended "The Philosophy of the Human Voice," 
by Dr. Rush; otherwise, I have suggested different text- 
books, according to the intentions of those making the in- 
quiries. 

At times, in the latter case, I have had misgivings as to the 
results of my advice ; for, in none of the lesser works I have 
recommended, would all the means of vocal expression suf- 
ficiently correspond in style to those I inculcated, and it 
semed to be the FOEii alone that many persons paeticulaely 
desired. 

Furthermore, I have needed a manual by which instruc- 
tion, in a method which I claim in many respects to be new 
in its plan and arrangement, could be imparted more reliably 
than by oral means alone. I have, therefore, prepared this 
volume, as an improvement upon my former efforts, the last 
published five years ago, v/hich I now send forth to accom- 
plish what it may in the furtherance of the noble art of read- 
ing and speaking icell. 

In the following treatise I have inserted, occasionally, c^UvO-t 
tations from authors on art and painting, as well as elocu- 



4 PREFACE. 

tion; but as, in many instances, I have very considerably 
changed their 'pliraseology to adapt them to my meaning^ I 
have omitted entirely the usual punctuative marks, which, if 
Ui^ed, would he variously scattered throughout, as well as 
placed at the sides of the pages, and thus tend to disSgure 
their typographical appearance. 

I have borrowed incidentally another's veliicle, making 
the necessary alterations, to transmit my own impressions at 
a smaller sacrifice of time than by contriving a means alto- 
gether original. 

If the critic chooses, however, to be captious and illiberal 
with such an arrangement he may be so at his pleasure. 
"With the more indulgent of mankind I sincerely hope my 
intentions will justify the course I have pursued. 

I have drawn from numerous sources, but my chief inspira- 
ration is due to a thorough, laborious study of " The Philoso- 
'phy''^ of Dr. Rush. Many of the illustrations^ though in fxform 
of my own^ are from the above-mentioned work. 

In the practical part of this system I have so enlarged 
upon the elements, and mechanized the examples, that many 
will doubtless pass a hasty judgment upon its efiicacy. My 
own observation and daily experience satisfies me, however, 
that the art of elocution can be successfully taught only in 
some such manner as I herein suggest. I also feel satisfied 
that a CAEEFUL study and teial of this system, not a meke 
PERUSAL, will induce others to believe as I do. 

Speaking is an aet ; and in one sense all arts are mechan- 
ical. They have all seemingly arbitrary principles, or laws. 
Music, Painting, and Sculpture, have an infinitude of details ; 
and there is no reason whatever why Elocution should be 
exempt from some such similar restraints, or limits, which 
do not enfeeble art by this necessary restriction, but gthde 



PREFACE. 5 

and IMPEL it in the proper direction onlj to inoeease its 
NATUEAL tendencies. 

In this method I have simply done what the conjoined 
experiments of voice, ear, and eye, have suggested to be the 
BEST means of showing othees how to practice by analysis^ 
instead of relying on mere impulse and insti:nctive unguided 
effort. To be sure, I have multiplied the combinations of 
principles in a great variety of ways, but if the student will 
remember that there are but five great leading priDci[.les, 
and the object is to develops them more successfully, he will 
not become alarmed at the abundance of means before him. 

These five principles, as enumerated by Dr. Rush, embrace 
eveetthing. They are as follows : — Quality, which includes 
the NATUEAL, the falsette, the whispeeing, and the oeo- 
TUND VOICES ; FOECE, whicli Comprehends the different stresses 
&c. ; QUAXTiTT, which refers to the time of syllables and 
PAUSES in discourse ; abeuptness, the staooato of speech, 
which differs essentially from slow or rapid time; and pitch, 
to which belong the skips, slides, and waves, of whole tones 
and semitones. 

The great trouble of studying Elocution without the living 
teacher arises, principally, from the novitiate mistaking com- 
BiXxVTioxs and the higher graces for the peixciples them- 
selves, and thus becoming disheartened at the seeming- 
amount of work before him. If properly pursued. Elocution 
becomes one of the most delightful of studies, and it is hoped 
that these pages may tend to prove it such. 

The selections for reading and speaking, in the latter part 
of this Manual, were chosen, in most instances, because less 
frequently found in works of this kind. Tlie author has only 
taken such old pieces, for practice with pupils, as he deemed 
necessary, and then endeavored, as far as possible^ to add new 



6 PREFACE. 

material, of a humorous as well as serious style, hoping there- 
by to suit a variety of tastes. How far he has succeeded in 
this attempt he leaves others to jud^e. 

The diagram on pnge 88, was executed by one of the ladies 
of the Engraving Class of the Cooper Union. 

In conclusion, the author would most heartily acknowl- 
edge the very valuable assistance of Mr. D. F. Dimon, Elo- 
cutionist, of this city. 

J. E. F. 

New Yoek, Jan. Ist^ 1867. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

Culture of the Voice. — Public Speaking. — The Throat and 
Lungs how used. — Irritation of the Throat. — Energizing the 
Voice.— Healthy Lungs and Loud Speaking. — Voice for Dis- 
tance, — Clear, Sonorous Sounds. — Capacity of the Lungs. — 
Retentive Breath. — Increase of Volume and Power 11 

The Silent Practice. — Inward Mental and Outward Physical 
Force. — Subdued Vocality. — Intense Will. — Vehement Ges- 
ticulation. — Pacing the Room. — To prevent straining 21 

Expression. — Reality and Sensibility. — Earnest Orators, Delicate 
Declaimers. — Simplicity, — The Two Extremes. — Commisera- 
tion. — Artlessness in Vehemence. — Rapid Speech. — The 
Most Eloquent Manner, — Extraordinary Means, — The Dis- 
play of Self 22 

Reading, — Dramatic, Theatrical. — ^Far-Fetched Expression, — 
Familiar Conversation. — Defects and Excellencies. — The 
Voice in Public. — Another's Opinion. — Reasoning out the 
Language. — The Ruling Passion; Prevailing Sentiment 29 

Reading of poetry, — Pausing. — Sing-Song. — Dwelling on 

Rhymes. — Blank Verse 32 

Personation. — Changing the Voice. — The Face and Chest. — An- 
alysis of Characters. — Peculiarities of Expression. — Two or 
more persons, — Humorous styles. — Garrick, Webster, Clay. 
— The Most Successful. — To be a Well-Balanced Orator 32 

Action. — Awkward Attitudes, — Retention of Expression, Atti- 
tude and Action. — The Graces of Gesture. — The Habits of 
Students, — Different Styles, — Dropping Gestures. — Alter- 
nating. — Watching Children. — The Hawk and Eagle 36 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

The Passions. — Developed and Trained. — To Counteract Exag- 
geration, — The Greatest Effects. — Servilely Copying. — The 
Eloquence of a look. — Highly Intensive States. — Imitation. 
— Orators and Actors.. 40 

The Features. — The Eyes, the Eye-Brows, the Nose, the Mouthi, 

and lips 44 

The Great Masters. — The Great Orators and Actors. — The s 

Stage. — Mrs. Siddons.— Edmund Kean.— The Elder Booth... 45 

Habits of the Orator. — Smoking and Chewing. — The Food. — 
Speaking after Eating.— The Teeth.— The Clothing.— The 
Muscles of the Throat. — Clergymen. — Things to Improve the 
Yoice. — Hoarseness. — Nostrums. — Drinking Water 48 

Especially for Students. — Going on to the Stage. — Bowing. — 
The Correct Way. — Commencing. — Reading an Essay, — 
Reasons for Gestures. — The Method of Study. — After an 
Oration is Committed. — Prompting^ on Public Occasions 50 

General Directions. — Beginning. — Feeling at Ease. — The Way 
to Acquire Assurance. — The Manner of Looking at an Audi- 
ence. — Changing position. — A Listening Audience. — Uncon- 
scious Breathing 54 

Short Hints. — Reading and Feeling. — Declaiming and Talking. 
— Force and Rant. — Suppressed Power. — Concentration. — 
Beauties of Delivery 57 

Practical Elocution. — Breathing. — Inner Lining and Muscles 
of the Throat. — Method of Breathing. — Dizziness. — Tiitoe 
Occupied in Breathing. — Expansion of the Lungs. — Elas- 
ticity of the Chest. — Breathing Through the Nostrils. — 
Audible ; Forcible Breathing. — Sighing, Gasping, Panting. — 
The Loud Whisper 59 

Articulation. — Method of Practice. — Pure Tone. — All the diffi- 
cult Combinations " 61 

Force. — Nine Degrees. — The Stresses 83 

Pitch. — Singing and Speaking. — Skips, Slides, Waves, — Ques- 
tions and Answers. — High Notes. — Conversation, PubUc 



CONTENTS. 9 

PAGE. 

Speaking, Drawling and Monotony, — Radical and Vanishing 
Movement. — Modulation and Melody. — The Six Cadences. — 

Intonation at Pauses 8*7 

Time. — Quantity. — Pausing. — Supplying the Lungs. — Rules for 

Pausing. — Rythmus lUO 

Expression. — Quality. — Tones. — The Natural, Orotund, Falsette 

and Whispering Voices 104 

Grouping of Speech and Emphasis. — Syllables 105 

Intonation — Expressive Intonation 107 

Action and Gesture. — Six Gestures. — The Fingers, Pahn, Arms, 
— Motion, Direction, Manner, — The Face, Feet. — Explana- 
tions. — Examples 108 

The Passions. — A Graduated Scale. — A Complete Analysis of 

the Passions 123 

Examples of the Passions 132 

Selections. 

Readings for Practice 142 

The Cavalry Charge 166 

The First and Last Dinner 168 

The Devil and the Lawyers 1*71 

Very Dark 172 

Pat and the Pig 173 

The Old Man Dreams 0. W. Holmes. 174 

Popping Corn 175 

The Battle Geo. W. Birdseye. 177 

The Birth ofErm 180 

Metaphysics 182 

E Pluribus Unura 185 

A Scene in Ventriloquism 186 

The Old Chapel Bell JohnG. Saxe. 190 

The Frenchman and the Flea Powder 193 

Pat and his Musket 194 

Mulrooney 195 

Early Rising John G. Saxe. 19C 

1* 



10 CONTENTS. 

Short Extracts for Speaking. 

PAGE. 

Eloquence. — Poetry. — Shakspeare 198 

Eussian Campaign. — Enthusiasm. — Yanity 201 

Plato. — ^Amusements. — Knowledge 203 

Greatness. — Shokspeare's Sensibility. — Washington 206 

Intellect. — Men of Principle. — Dominion 208 

City of Liberty. — Webster. — California 211 

The Classics. — Public Instruction. — True Glory 213 

Perseverance. — Bonaparte. — Self-Culture 215 

Heroism. — Moral Taste. — Sketch of Webster 217 

Allegiance. — Literary Men. — National Greatness 220 

The Wise and Good.— Writers 222 

Orators. — Lafayette. — Washington 225 

Home Influence. — The Problem. — Heroic Example 227 

Nationality. — Eevolutions. — National Ensign 230 

Perpetuity of the Union. — Our Heroic Dead. — Our Heroes 232 

Political Morality. — Greatest Glory.— Love of Country 234 

Loyalty to Liberty. — Our Inheritance. — Free Homes 237 

Great Men's Minds. — Selections — Love of Country. — Mind 239 

Selections. 

A Categorical Courtship 242 

Mutual Assistance 243 

The Courtin' J. R. Lovell. 244 

Jonteel Homme 246 

Billy and Betty 248 

Fortitude 250 

Literary Studies 253 

Psahn 137th 257 

Slain at Sadowa 257 

Children in the Moon 259 

Sheridan's Ride 260 

Classes — Readings 263 

Testimonials 263 



CULTURE OF THE VOICE. 



To one who has paid but little attention to the subject 
the study of Elocution seems to be a great undertaking. 
Much has been said, and many panegyrics have been 
pronoimced upon the art ; indeed a vast amount has 
been written also upon the necessity of study and prac- 
tice of elementary elocution in order to become a good 
reader or speaker ; and yet all that has been said and 
written, in both ancient and modern times, can be con- 
densed into the very concise and limited expression — 
Be Natukal. 

Nature is harmonious, and, being governed by im- 
mutable laws, produces only sweet concords of sound 
and motion. When these laws are violated, discord is 
the inevitable result. This holds good — particularly 
so — in human speech. Man, when closeted from active 
life, engaged in the depths of philosophic pursuits and 
studies, becomes a passive receptacle of thought. He 
thus perverts and violates ISTature's laws by the expan- 
sion of his mental, at the sacrifice of his vocal and 
physical powers. 

Public speaking should be energetic in its character. 
The larger public spaces are to be filled with a fulness 
and strength of voice that comes from a more than 
mere every-day conversational power of expression ; 
and unless persons have already this character of voice, 
they must of necessity^ by an elementary and persistent 
thorough practice, tone up their vocal organs requisite 



12 VOICE AND ACTIOJ^-. 

to the demand, prior to any considerable effort in the 
use of them, or failure will he inevitable. Articulate 
words, to be heard agreeably by an audience, must be 
well filled and made round, with air expelled from 
strong, active lungs. It behooves us, therefore, in the 
first place, to see that the breathing apparatus is in 
good working order. To regulate this portion, and to 
see that it works easily and appropriately, should be 
our first efibrt toward improvement in this noble art. 
By training our lungs so that we can breathe deeply 
and thoroughly, and fill the very lowest air-cells in them, 
and thus speak with the whole^ as it were, of ourselves 
and not simply with the lips and throat, we shall expe- 
rience none of those distressing feelings which so har- 
ass the larger portion of our public speakers, in the 
shape of bronchitis and other annoying throat-diseases. 
The throat should very rarely he used other than as 
an extended ov widened pas mge^ straight in its direction, 
for breath to come up from the lungs, and thus be 
made a secondary instrument in forming articulate ex- 
pression of our thoughts. 

All irritation of the throat, as far as regards its use 
in public speaking, arises from the comparative exelu- 
sive7iess of its employment, and thus making it do 
nearly all the work, when it should be used merely 
as an assistant. 

This straining the throat, instead of energizing the 
voice, proves the ruin and misery of many who might, 
under proper cultivation, become celebrated among the 
gifted. 

The lungs are the great means ; the throat, mouth, 
tongue, teeth, lips, and even the nose, only assist in 
forming that wonderful feature, the human voice. They 
would all work Avith comparative ease and comfort to 
their individual owners, from the first beam of intelli- 



VENTILATION AXD BEEATHING. 18 

gence upon infantile mind, even into advanced age, were 
they not cramped by enervating, artificial habits. The 
atmosphere of ill- ventilated, over-heated school-rooms, 
dwellings, churches, places of business, public halls, 
colleges, and, in short, all sedentary pursuits, have the 
strongest tendency to weaken the lungs and prevent 
their proper action. The air breathed in such places, 
and under such circumstances, becomes greatly insuf- 
ficient and impure ; the lack of exercise also lessens the 
animal heat of the body, and artificial heat is supplied 
and kept in the rooms with closed doors and windows, 
till it is breathed over and over again, and rendered 
fearfully poisonous and totally unfit for further use. 

This weakens all parts of the system, but chiefly the 
lungs, and the muscles, membranes, and delicate linings 
of the throat. These lose their vigor, and become 
doubly susceptible to the slightest chafing. 

Xow the sooner a person learns to breathe, and 
learns that the air must be fresh and pure, the sooner 
he will feel what it is to have sound lungs and throat, 
and furthermore, what it is to speak at least with ease 
and comfort, if not with skill and elegance. 
♦ In order that the lungs and vocal apparatus may be 
strengthened correctly, they should first be exercised 
independently of language, by a series of vocal gym- 
nastic exercises. 

But, even with healthy lungs and a strong voice, 
there is great liability to mismanagement of the vocal 
powers in loud speaking ; for, when uncultivated, the 
voice seems inclined naturally, when energetically used, 
to rise to a high and piercing pitch in vociferation, 
making the effort extremely painful to the speaker and 
unpleasant to the hearer. This manner of speaking tears 
the sides of the throat, producing inflammation and 
bronchitis. In the immediate exercise it over-exhausts 



14 VOICE AND ACTION. 

the air from the lungs, causing an inward pressure and 
sinking of the chest, which gives rise to sharp, acute 
pains. 

Those who speak from pure excitement alone, espe- 
cially novices in the art, are most likely to aiFect this 
style. They lose all command of the voice, and make 
sad havoc of themselves by the very powers which, if 
cultivated to the necessary standard, would prove won- 
derfully effective. 

How many clergymen do we see that have broken 
themselves down by an improper management of the 
lungs and voice ! They have struggled on in the vio- 
lence of their excitement until they have prematurely 
ruined themselves. By a just application of principles, 
they could have controlled their voices at pleasure, 
and made them subserve any reasonable and satisfactory 
demand. 

Many a voice is said to be feeble because it is 
formed in the throat, with the least perceptible assist- 
ance of the lungs, and an improper. use is made of the 
vocal organs. At the very time such a voice may be 
strong, but its power is smothered by erroneous appli- 
cation of means. ♦ 

Demosthenes, whose voice was weak, whose articu- 
lation was defective, by a course of systematic training 
such as few have ever subjected themselves to, demon- 
strated that the practical application of the principles 
of this art can be learned. Cicero, even after he had 
attained to some eminence as a pleader, his voice being 
harsh, and as in high excitement he rose to a high 
pitch, fearing he might strain himself, applied to 
teachers, and even went to Asia and other places, to 
hear the best, and receive further instruction. The 
ancient orators thought the culture of the voice the 
matter of first importance. 



TOCIFERATIOX. 15 

Curran cultivated his powers with the utmost assi- 
duity. His voice and utterance were naturally shrill 
and impeded ; or, as he remarked, in a state of nature. 
He daily read aloud, slowly and distinctly, and studi- 
ously observed and imitated skilful speakers. The 
success of this exercise was so complete that his greatest 
excellencies were the clearness of his articulation and a 
graduated intonation. His person was without grace 
or dignity, short and ill-proportioned, and to conceal 
these deficiencies he practised continually before a mii*- 
ror to acquire the proper action. He debated questions 
alone, as if he were before the club. He declaimed 
from Junius, Milton, Shakspeare and others. By 
industry he rose to eminence. 

Dr. Rush says, few jDcrsons are aware of the influ- 
ence that loud speaking or vociferation has on the 
quality of the voice. It is one of the artificial modes 
of producing the orotund. It takes the voice from its 
meagre mincing about the lips, and transfers it, at 
least in semblance, to the back of the mouth, or to the 
throat. It imparts a grave fulness to its quality ; and, 
by creating a strength of organ, gives confidence 
to the speaker in his more forcible efforts, and an 
unhesitating facility in all the moderate exertions of 
speech. 

When the mind is prepared by elementary and by 
systematic practice, the feeling which prompts expres- 
sion will find the confirmed and pliant organ ready to 
effect a satisfactory and elegant accomplishment of its 
designs. 

The organs of speech are capable of a certain range 
of exertion. To fulfil all the demands of a complete 
Elocution, they should be carried to the full extent of 
that capability. Xo one can read correctly or with 
elegance, if he does not both understand and feel what 



16 VOICE AND ACTION. 

lie utters. But these are not exclusively the means of 
success. Sense and feeling must have a well-tempered 
material in the voice. 

In speaking of the mental requisites for good read- 
ing, we must not overlook our frequent neglect to dis- 
criminate between strong feelings and delicate ones. 

The mind, or nervous temperament, must furnish 
the design of Elocution ; the ear must watch over the 
lines and coloring of its expression. 

An ability to measure nicely the time, force, and 
pitch of sounds, is indispensable to the higher excel- 
lencies of speech. It is impossible to say how much 
of the musical ear, properly so called, is the result of 
cultivation. 

The voice, for public speaking, must be larger 
than for conversation, and be properly proportioned. 
In illustration, to a certain extent, might be cited the 
story of the statues. A large public edifice required a 
statue as the crowning piece upon its loftiest tower 
high above the rest of its architectural designs. 
Orders were issued that the various sculptors of the 
country might compete in furnishing an appro- 
priate figure. The day appointed at length arrived, 
and among the rest was a huge, rough, but well- 
proportioned statue, giant-like in size, which was not 
only rejected by the judges without deliberation, hut 
was the ridicule of all. 

The finest and most suitable of the others was then 
selected ; it was raised aloft to the tower, bat it was 
too small to be in keeping with the great height, and 
its polished surface so reflected the rays of the sun as 
to make it an undistinguishable mass of stone. 

It was lowered to the ground, and after some hesi- 
tation it was decided at last to try the large one so 
rudely rejected. To the surprise of all it was none too 



SONOROUS SOUNDS. l7 

large, and its roughness only served to absorb the 
glare of the sun and to give a just and agreeable 
reflection to the eyes of those who gazed upon it. 

Thus it is with public speaking ; an ordinary voice 
is too small. Distance and large spaces require a large 
voice. As regards the application of the foregoing 
illustration, the voice has decidedly the advantage, for 
it can be cultivated to a strong sonorous condition, 
and be used with the utmost delicacy in conversation, 
and sound immeasurably richer than a puny voice, or 
it can be applied in the most energetic manner to pub- 
lic speaking, with equal facility. Its public exertion 
need not destroy its private delicacy. 

The clear and robust sounds depend upon breath- 
ing gently ; not forcing the breath, but sparing it, that 
the delicate muscles of the throat and palate may not 
be irritated, but become more elastic, and expand 
into an arch-like shape. Sounds are more sonorous 
and clear from the space they vibrate in. Thus know- 
ing how to spare and make good use of the breath is 
of the greatest importance, as this gives the power of 
expanding and sustaining firm sounds, of sending forth 
the voice in the most energetic or most delicate manner^ 
and so coloring every emotion .the sense requires. 

Sometimes early defective example places the stu- 
dent in a painful and embarrassing position. When 
his manner is formed, and the organs of speech are 
hardened into almost inflexible rigidity, he discovers 
something wrong. He then applies himself to the 
study of Elocution, in hope of effacing, in a few les- 
sons, the habits, and acquiring, in a short time, the 
mastery of an art, which, from the union it requires of 
judgment, taste, and feeling with natural qualifications 
and mechanical skill, is, perhaps, surpassed by none in 
difficulty of acquisition. Discredit is tlirown upon the 



18 VOICE AND ACTION. 

art, which properly belongs to the artist, at such a 
time. 

He has, it is true, an arduous, though 7iot insuper- 
able task. He must retrograde and hegin again. Let 
him labor steadily and perseveringly in private, but 
cast aside all attention to manner when in public. Let 
improvement be the gradual and unconscious result of 
previous practice. He should avoid all appearance of 
display, and of a puerile preference of the means to the 
great ends to be attained. 

Elocution cannot be taught by rules. One is sure 
to employ the inflections of voice that are natural and 
suitable, the shortest and easiest way, if the voice is 
sufficiently trained, and the meaning understood. Aim 
directly at becoming a good speaker. When this end 
is attained, rules are needless. 

All have the public voice but with most it is 
undeveloped. With such it requires faithful, systematic, 
long-continued practice. 

A young man once applied to a celebrated vocalist 
for instruction. The agreement was that he would be 
received one year on condition that he would patiently 
faithfully practise as he was directed. The instruction 
commenced on a plain but irksome exercise, which was 
repeated day after day without the least variation, 
except as to a rigid, exacting increase of skill in its 
execution. This continued for three, tor six months, 
and then the pupil thought there would certainly be 
some change. But no ; the entire year was exhausted 
on this one, simple, but all-efficient exercise. Now 
what? 

The pupil agreed to another year, and to his sur- 
prise it was merely another feature for the entire 
twelve months. One more year of equal perseverance 
he was told would finish his instruction. To the utter 



FORMOG THE VOICE. 19 

astonishraent of the young man, another year passed 
with not even a new exercise, but a combination of 
those of the preceding years. Three years of toil 
had expired and he awaited the advice of the vocalist. 
He was told that he had received all that it was in the 
power of his teacher to impart as regarded the culti- 
vation of his voice, and he was urged to go forth into 
the world and use it. 

Thus it is with reading and speaking; the voice 
is first to be formed. It is to be strengthened by an 
increased capacity of the lungs^ and an acquired strong 
respiratory action. Its thorough discipline must be 
mastered, from the lightest whisper to the loudest 
shouting ; not with a view to actual use, but for secur- 
ing a command over every degree of force and pliancy. 
Even in a few weeks a stentorian power can be im- 
parted to a comparatively weak voice. This practice, 
if understood, is highly invigorating and enables a 
person to operate easily with either the lightest or the 
most energetic eiforts. 

When I speak of the capacity of the lungs, I do not 
mean a large chest simply, for the chest may be broad 
but the lungs may resemble the dried up meat of a 
filbert. Dumb-bells do not expand the lungs but 
merely enlarge their chamber. The only true means 
is by systematic, artistic breathing ; and hardening the 
muscles around the nech by wearing the clothing 
sufiiciently loose to allow the air to cii-culate freely 
around thera. 

It is absolutely necessary, before fluent and easy 
utterance, to have command over a greater quantity of 
air in the lungs, and to invigorate and brace up the 
muscles around the throat, to give them an expansive 
energy to admit and expel air to any degree of inten- 
sity whatever, without injurious effects. 



20 VOICE AND ACTION-. 

To make speech sonorous and metallic in its charac- 
ter the sides must be jjractised to expand well with the 
head erect, the chest forward and the lungs kept filled. 
The lungs are like the bellows to an organ ; for it will 
not emit full, musical sounds unless the bellows freely 
supply the air. 

In reading even in a sitting posture never huddle 
up or bend over, but sit erect, and keep otherwise as 
near as possible to a standing posture. 

Whether the voice is used as by a reader or not, 
those who value their lungs and vocal powers should 
attend particularly to the ventilation of their apart- 
ments, especially those in which they sleep. They 
should never sit or sleep in a room that is not properly 
aired. The author, even in mid winter has his windows 
lowered several inches, both day and night, or in some 
manner a door ajar, leading to another apartment or to 
a hall way, through which fresh air is constantly ad- 
mitted. 

The vocal organs become enervated and paralyzed 
for want of action, but a far worse fate awaits them 
if deprived oipure ah\ for then they become diseased. 

When actually speaking do not mistake loudness 
for intensity. The one is merely voice or bellowing : 
the other is the meaning deeply imbued with the 
bright hues of feeling. 

The orator may gesticulate with the desperation 
of a lunatic and shout loud enough to tear the welkin, 
but this is monstrous ; all that is needed when the 
voice is strong, is earnestness. The practice of the 
voice is one thing ; its application, very nearly another. 
.The voice must be practised to its fullest capability to 
render it strong and flexible, but no one need to shout 
wdiile actually speaking. He who vociferates at any 
time without judgment, will injui'e the vocal organs; 



THE SILENT PEACTICE. 21 

he who smothers the voice will be heard with difficulty. 
It must be clear and penetrating ; every stroke of the 
voice should be perceived, every vibration instantly 
apprehended. 

Pure, firm, decided tones are formed only on a full, 
retentive breath and by a quick opening of the mouth ; 
like the foot promptly lifted as in marching w^ithout 
shuffling. Deep tones express our inmost feelings ; and 
it is by a perfect control, a power to economize the 
breath, that great speakers hold audiences in breath- 
less expectation, as they alarmingly but gradually 
increase the volume and deepen the tones of their 
voices, and then delicately diminish the power to 
almost a mere breathing expression. 

When the student has at last learned the right way 
he will gladly leave the tones of conversation, when in 
public, and set utterance free from trammels, and urge 
it forth in broad emphatic speaking, the only style that 
sways and carries along an audience. 

THE SILEXT PEACTICE. 

The best practice is in the open air ; the next in a 
large hall or well-ventilated room. But if a person is 
so circumstanced as not to be able to practise aloud, 
without greatly annoying people, he can use a means, 
which I call the sile2sT peactice, by which the voice 
can be even skilfully improved. In this exercise he is 
to sufficiently intone the words to give them audibil- 
ity, and by intense will and a determined inward 
mental and an outward physical force, seem to shout 
and gesticulate as if in the very depths of the forest 
or on the wild and lonely sea shore. It requires, how- 
ever, rigid and exacting application ; and thus effects 
nearly all that may be needed. Practice of this kind 



22 YOICE AND ACTION. 

cannot be heard even by those in an adjoining room, 
but great skill is necessary to prevent straining even 
by this method. The exercise must be gradually and 
not directly powerful, and yet be earnest enough in its 
character to produce the desired results. 

To equalize and divide the labor with the voice, it 
is advisable to pace the room in a seemingly furious 
manner, to gesticulate freely and lustily, with the eyes 
full of fire and expression ; and all this, even though the 
whole frame be excited to a glow of enthusiasm and 
animation, can be done without the least disturbance 
to others in the immediate vicinity. 

If the room is w^ell aired, and the person deeply 
inflates the lungs, and concentrates his mind on the 
purpose, it is impossible not to derive immense benefit. 

Personal experience with pupils, has demonstrated 
that a radically weak voice can be made strong by 
such a method. Breathing alone would do much 
toward the attainment of the end proposed, but a com- 
bination with the efforts of the body tends to facilitate 
the matter. 

This apparently extravagant exercise is merely for 
practice, and it renders all the speaking powers ex- 
tremely strong and pliant. 

In private, the breath may be violently drawn in 
and as violently expelled, but in public, it must be 
imperceptibly supplied. The same with action; if 
either is obtruded it mars the expression. The 
public use of both should be mainly characterised by 
simplicity and strength. 

EXPRESSION. 

When the voice is prepared by elementary training, 
and is capable of fulfilling all demands, then public 



SIMPLICITY. 23 

speaking should be earnest ; not merely with a louder 
noise and more vehement gesture, as in practice, but 
with reality and sensibility. It is diiScult to acquire 
the habits which induce that native feeling, and fresh- 
ness of expression. It must be living, soul-kindling. 
It can be professedly cultivated, and even mechanically, 
but with the sincerity and earnestness of a man bent 
on great effects ; as of realities which he understands 
and feels in the very depths of his soul. This is the 
only means of producing what the age demands — 
powerful, earnest orators, and not graceful, delicate 
declaimers. 

The simplest truths when communicated powerfully 
come to us warm and living from the speaker's soul. 
Sometimes a single sentence uttered in this manner 
goes deep into the hearers heart and teaches more than 
could be gathered in hours from the written page. 
There is not an atom to spare in the works of nature, 
and its greatest structures are its simplest. Simplicity 
is the highest and the most enduring of all qualities. It 
is the mean of extremes and exactly answers to its end. 

The orator should have his language red-hot with 
passion, but everything like effort should disappear ; 
and even the most exciting expressions should be 
given with a smooth, severe simplicity that is delicate 
as well as energetic. 

The two extremes of speaking, between which is 
found this exact simplicity, are rant and apathy. The 
object of Elocution is to explain those natural prin- 
ciples already created, which properly control expres- 
sion ; to develope and cultivate voice and feeling to 
the extent desired ; and to refine, not pervert nature ; 
and the greatest orators are those who have this art 
subservient to native powers. Even in the calmest 
and most subdued expression there should always be 



24 VOICE AND ACTION. 

evinced a great susceptibility of emotion and energy, 
or it will assume the character of sluggishness. In 
the gentlest mood, however light the fieeling, to influ- 
ence and move others we must ourselves be influenced 
and moved. In every shade of emotion persons should 
guard watchfully against styles — the bombastic, the 
theatrical, the lofty — which betray themselves by the 
tones of the voice failing to penetrate to the very 
bottom of the soul, and which are ready instantly to 
die away in the ear of the auditor which derives no 
internal animation from the effort. 

Cicero says he requires not a feigned compassion, 
nor incentives to sorrow, but that which is real, flow- 
ing from the sighs of a wounded heart. He also 
remarks that commiseration ought to be of short dura- 
tion, for nothing dries up sooner than a tear. 

Even in pathos and emotions of pity the orator 
himself must not weep, but control his feelings, or the 
delivery is degraded. 

The poet cannot see to write when his eyes are 
filled with tears ; he must rise superior to his grief 
before he can sublimate his grief in song. 

The artist is a master, not a slave ; he wields his 
passion, he is not hurried along by it. He possesses 
and is not possessed. Art enshrines the great 
sadness of the world, but is itself not sad. Hazlitt 
says, that whatever is genuine in art must proceed 
from the impulse of nature and individual genius. 
The ideal is not the preference of that which exists 
only in the mind to that which is fine in nature, but to 
that which is less so. There is nothing fine in art but 
what is taken almost immediately, and as it were in 
the mass, from what is finer in nature. Where there 
have been the finest models in nature, there have been 
the finest works in art. In the study of this art, the 



VOICE AND FEELING. 25 

proper object, when a good foundation is laid in the 
voice, is the directness of one's endeavor to acquire 
that exacting habit which is able to exclude all that is 
foreign and omit nothing in expression that is essential 
to its just and elegant proportions. 

A speaker should be artless^ even in vehemence ; 
and have a negligent air of naturalness, and yet be 
able to fill even plain truths with feeling. In the most 
exciting expressions the words must not be given so 
rapidly as to prevent the proper emphasis and thor- 
ough intonation of each syllable. Precipitation kills 
the meaning. 

Sensibility will move even ordina,ry men to speak 
-well at times ; it is this which pi-ompts the words that 
burn, but it must be genuine. It must be delicate, not 
tampered with ; it cannot be forced. It must be an 
urgent thirsting for truth, a tortured mental strug- 
gling iGithin for outward vocal life. 

The voice can be cultivated to work out the feel- 
ings which are already in the soul ready to be sum- 
moned into action. It can breathe them out with 
a glow of animation and purpose that eventually 
assumes a character of reality. A few words show 
the presence of the orator ; as with a painter the 
roughest sketch betrays the hand of the master. The 
most eloquent manner of speaking is the most easily 
acquired, for it is as simple as it is natural. Many 
overreach and w^ork themselves up by extraordinary 
instead of gentle means beyond the fervid and simple 
style to a bombastic and frigid declamation. 

The aim should be the repose, not absence of ex- 
pression. Taste will refine a sufiiciently cultivated 
voice; and sincerity, vigor, and power can never be 
harmonized until softened by taste. 

When expression is the result of mere feeling, truth 
2 



26 YOICE AND ACTION-. 

is sacrificed for its appearance ; show is mistaken for 
substance ; and the result is violent, bizarre, capricious. 

There is also great danger of overdoing the tech- 
nical principles, and mere imitation is imbecility. 
Here imitation is used as the end instead of the cor- 
rective, the improvement and bringing out of natural 
powers. 

To imitate, for something beyond the principles, 
will exalt not degrade originality. 

When a pupil has once laid hold of a principle he 
will see where his teacher deviates, and even be able to 
correct him. Principles will guide also in the study 
of deformities for the very purpose of avoiding them. 

The rules of criticism are not arbitrary. In the 
mind there is an innate joower which only requires 
development to appreciate the true, and separate it 
from the false. 

Wayward prejudices may for a time esteem even 
deformities as excellencies, and even take delight in 
distortion. Eye and ear may become the slave of 
habit and receive most pleasure from the peculiarities 
to which they have been accustomed. 

Public speakers of all kinds, especially lawyers and 
clergymen, from the fact of their occupying high intel- 
lectual- positions, have a great controlling influence 
over younger aspirants in the same directions. 

Many speakers have faults peculiar to themselves, 
and they become, by their examples, the instructors 
of herds of worthless imitators. The youthful De- 
mosthenes is told to watch the best (?) speakers ; 
he copies alike both good and bad habits and the 
result is merely a confirmed imitation ; the bad habits 
of course display themselves to a very disagreeable 
extent, as the idiosyncracies of the former do not sit 
well on the latter. 



DISCIPLINE. 21 

The only sure means is by a study of the princJples, 
referring constantly to nature for their application, 
ITature is varied, refined, and subtle beyond retention, 
therefore refer to her continually ; recur to her at 
every step and in this way daily renew strength. The 
principles of art endue nature with an air of intellect 
and sentiment. 

If we are not natural we are repulsive. Affectation 
will be detected. Sometimes we put on airs when 
striving to be natural ; this is absurd, for we ought 
ratlier to ascertain faults with a determination to 
remove them. 

If the speaker feels the sentiment, even a bad voice 
will show it in every degree, for it ??ever plays /a/se, 
and there is no substitute for reality. We can seem to 
be real till living reality comes, and is gracefully natu- 
ral. Discipline will effect this, and will awaken dormant 
energies to an extent little suspected by most people. 

Success depends upon filling the soul with the 
TYiighty purpose of excelling ; of shrinking from no labor 
that is essential to the purpose, and keeping constantly 
in view the reality and simplicity of nature. There 
should be a right-onwardness in expression ; a rushing 
to the end, which keeps the mind awake and on the 
alert. 

There should be a freedom from superflousness of 
feeling, and a point or focus to which all should tend ; 
everything foreign to this is ruinous, yet it should have 
all that is necessary to completeness. 

Anxious, critical study, however, is apt, unless 
properly directed, to interfere with nature ; for we 
study principles merely as such, and apply them to 
words merely as words, instead of cultivating the voice 
to bring out the meaning and feeling from those other- 
wise silent symbols. 



28 VOICE AND ACTION. 

The voice, from improper application, is apt to be 
loud^ instead of intense^ dignified^ and conversational 
in tone. This makes a speaker mmatural, no matter 
how natural his common utterance, and he displays 
himself like an actor ; for there are so few good actors 
that it is generally conceded that in the mass they do 
display themselves to the entire neglect of the charac- 
ters they vainly strive to sustain. 

The ancients represented exlstencies^ we the effects ; 
they portrayed the terrible^ we terribly. Hence our 
exaggeration, mannerism, false grace, and excess. For 
when we strive after effect we never think toe can be 
effective enough. 

Feeling cannot he expressed by words alone, or 
even by tones of voice ; but by the flash on the cheek, 
the look of the eye, the contracted brow, the com- 
pressed lip, the heaving breast, trembling frame, rigid 
muscle, the general bearing of the whole body. 

A sliglit movement of the head, a turn of the hand, 
a judicious pause or interruption of gesture, or change 
of position of the feet, often illuminates the meaning of 
a passage and sends it glowing into the understand- 
ing ; and yet, there are times when even the wonders 
of the eye will lose much of their charm, if not sup- 
ported by the still more imposing organ of the voice. 

We are told by an author that it made the blood 
run cold and the hair to almost stand on end to hear 
Edward Irving read the 137t]i Psalm, in the old Scotch 
version, (see Contents,) and it was the richest treat to 
hear him repeat the Lord's Prayer. 

Mr. Windham, after hearing Pitt, walked home lost 
in amazement at the compass of human eloquence. 
But eve]i Pitt writhed under the eloquence of Sheridan. 
On one occasion the House was adjourned, so as not to 
decide a question under the influence of such powerfid 
eloquence. 



EEADING. 29 

Discipline must be preparatory and private ; must 
consist in practice of action, in loud reading and speak- 
ing, till all the excellencies of a good elocution become 
part of one's nature. (iSTor will it be as long as we 
may have supposed, before we begin to experience 
these results.) Then we shall, as though they were 
gifts of nature, carry them into general use. Our pri- 
vate training will bring the graces imperceptibly into 
our public action, and all our defects will be gradually 
supplanted by them. Thus may we learn to speak by 
principles, yet we never need be embarrassed by them. 

With a competent teacher, the learner may aim 
directly at great excellence. Avoid bad habits and 
awkward restraints ; thus, indirectly, the beauties and 
graces M^ill ensue. 

When, at last, through severe labor, and patient, 
assiduous toil, the powers are capable of exemplifying 
the sublime in oratory, the mind is so overpowered and 
taken su(-h possession of that no room is left for minute 
details ; and the more intense the man's intellectual and 
emotional life becom.es at the same time, the more he 
demands those effects which call forth such harmonious 
energizing of the soul, and constitute the highest luxury 
of expression. 

Reading. — The only difference between Reading 
.and Speaking is in the degrees of force by which the 
principles are applied. Reading is necessarily more 
restrained than Speaking, but it is advisable to culti- 
vate acute susceptibility in both. 

Reading should have a dramatic character, which is 
not of necessity stage-like. Animated, earnest, expres- 
sive reading is not theatrical. It is like the conversa- 
tion of an earnest person thinking to himself aloud ; 
and if one far-fetched, over-done expression is given the 
charm is gone. 



80 VOICE Al^B ACTION. 

It will be far removed from artificial or reading 
tones, and, though natural, will be superior to the 
familiar tones of conversation. 

Dr. Rush says, that to read as we talk — that is, 
naturally and with expression — is an excellent rule ; 
but if our natural manner or accent be faulty, ¥/e should 
endeavor to correct rather than imitate it. 

In this art a vulgar ear may perceive defects in the 
finest examples, but it takes a high degree of culture 
to really appreciate excellencies. 

We should read slowly and distinctly, with the 
same pains that we take in talking ; so that if another 
were listening he would think we were talking instead 
of reading. In public we simply increase the power of 
this same manner. Reading is merely speaking what one 
sees in a book, just as he would express his own ideas 
as they flow in conversation ; and no one reads well 
until he does it in this natural way. Children read like 
parrots, for they never understand v/hat they read ; 
they merely pronounce the words. 

Pay no attention to the voice in public, but dwell 
intently on the sense, trusting all the rest to nature and 
prior practice for tones, emphasis, and inflections. 

He who understands and fully feels, v/ho earnestly 
occupies his mind with the matter, and is exclusively 
absorbed with that feeling, will be likely to communi- 
cate the same impression to his hearers. But this can- 
not be the case if he is occupied with the thought of 
what their opinion will be of his reading, and how his 
voice ought to be regulated ; if, in short, he is thinking 
of himself, and of course thus detracts his attention from 
that by which it should be altogether occupied. 

In reading the Scriptures, or similar composition, 
we should use great judgment. The sentiments in such 
are not intended to appear as our own. In such ex- 



VOCAL UNITY. 31 

ceptions pay close attention to the meaning, and leave 
the utterance to nature. 

As you read reason out the language particular by 
particular, and yet do not give a feeble catalogue of 
terms, for that weakens the force. Do not be too pre- 
cise, and yet have everything accurate. 

The sense should be studied thoroughly, by atten- 
tion to the various positions of the verbs and their 
nominatives, especially : then to the conjunctions, rela- 
tive pronouns, adverbs, and prepositions, as being the 
next most important parts of speech. 

By these particulars learn to grasp each period, and 
from them pass to paragraphs, until you can master the 
comprehensive whole of all the matter before you, and 
thus give the ruling passion or prevailing sentiment. 
By this method the mind can be assisted in holding 
the periods together, as the particulars are understood, 
by the tones of voice, gestures, looks of the eye, and a 
gentle swaying of the body. After the periods are 
formed, it is a very simple operation to unite them into 
paragraphs, and finally, by a similar but less intricate 
process, to combine them all together in one perfect 
whole. All can be summed up in a few words. At the 
outset, a person has so much to read ; and he must pre- 
sent each part as belonging intimately to what may 
have gone before and what is to follow. The smoother 
and less fragmentary and disjointed the effort appears, 
the more agreeable will it be to both hearer and reader. 
It differs very essentially from the ^^ pumping pro- 
cess." 

Each part of a statue is carefully and accurately 
wrought out as belonging to a whole. In its appear- 
ance as a figure we see a perfect unity, and yet each 
detail will bear the closest scrutiny. In a painting we 
observe the same effects ; all the parts form the pic- 



32 VOICE AND ACTION. 

ture. Disjoint the one, or rend the other, and we have 
only the fragments and the pieces. 

So it is with reading ; each word, was written with 
a view to some other word, each period to another 
period, and yet everything with an idea to a whole, 
and as such should all be read. 

Every part of the subject, to its minutest detail, 
should be given, and the unity of the whole be pre- 
served unbroken. If a man has no enthusiasm, how- 
ever, all will avail him nothing, for rules will be only 
ndes to him, and he will display the words obtrusively, 
coldly, and unfeelingly. 

When terrible or lofty feelings are pent up in the 
soul, then is a proper time to look within and carefully 
study those emotions— to be auditor, as it were, to them, 
to yourself. 

Habits of this kind will enable you, when you un- 
derstand thoroughly the meaning, to- commune with 
and study the appropriate expression. 

Poetry sho\ild be read very nearly like prose ; and 
whatever pauses are made as to the melody alone, 
especially at the end of every line, should be of the sus- 
pensive kind denoting a continuation of the sense ; this 
prevents that abominable sing-song style so common 
among cultivated persons, but not correct readers. 

The reader should not dwell on the rhymes, but 
read them smoothly, aiming at the sense, and preserv- 
ing just enough of the melody to distinguish the po- 
etry from prose. Great skill and frequent practice are 
required to enable a person to read blank verse correct- 

PERSONATION. 

Dialogues are excellent for practice, as. in reading 
them, the voice must frequently be changed in its tones 



PERSOXATIOX. 33 

to represent the different persons ; and furthermore, the 
reading of them very nearly resembles ordinary con- 
versation, or natural expression, and thus an interest is 
awakened. 

In this style of reading, in public, as a general rule, 
the face must be turned a little aside, presenting to the 
audience only about a three-quarter's yiew, while the 
chest is kept directly to the front. 

Each time a change of character occurs, the reader 
must so change his yoice, his position, and direction of 
face, as to keep before the hearer a distinct picture of 
the entire group. 

The face must be alternated according to circum- 
stances, so as to show its right or left side to the audi- 
ence ; and also regulated as to the distance it shall 
turn. 

The face must not front the audience, nor be turned 
at exactly right angles from tliem, but haye a direction 
between these extremes, in a general relationship with 
the characters represented. 

But, aboye everything else, see that the chest has a 
fuUffoni to the auditors ; never turn the side to them 
if it can be helped, and what is far vxjrse^ the hack. The 
audience wish to see the face and chesty not the side and 
hack of the reader. 

It is a difficult study to represent truthfully yarious 
men and women, both old and young. The author 
w^ould recommend, as a practice, first to analyze each 
character by itself, as regards the tones of the 
voice, or the peculiaiities of expression that may be- 
long to the person represented. In the meantime, the 
last lines of each character that directly precedes it can 
be giver, if desired, to assist the appearance of con- 
versation with another. 

In the recitation of poetry combining description 
2* 



34 VOICE A^D ACTIOj^. 

and colloquy, the descriptive parts, even to the minutest 
details, should be given directly to the audience. 

Each word of either character is given as in dia- 
logue, with the face partly turned from the audience, 
as though no one but yourself and the see^ning charac- 
ters were present, and yet with the full impression that 
they hear and thoroughly understand the sentiments, 
as if delivered directly to them. 

The following will illustrate this style: — 
Burned Marmion's swarthy clieek like fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire, 
And — •• This to me," he said ; 
*' An 'twere not for thy hoary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 
To cleave the Douglas' head." 

All except what Marmion is made to utter should 
be delivered directly to the audience ; but the instant 
he is represented as speaking, the voice should change, 
and the head turn to an angle from the hearers, 
to represent him as talking to Douglas ; but the words 
" he said," should be given with the face to the front 
again, and immediately^ in continuing the colloquy, the 
angle should be resumed as before. 

When two or more persons read or speak in dialogue 
they should feel the sentiments, listen to the language, 
and look at each other, as in earnest conversatioo. Each 
speaker should be interested in all that is said. This 
gives it an air of reality, and brings out the full mean- 
ing. 

Shakspeare furnishes the best examples for practice 
in pure dialogue; Milton (Paradise Lost) for lofty de- 
scription and colloquy combined. 

The practice of humorous description, and also amus- 
ing dialogue are by no means to be neglected, as their 
exercise is still more naturalizing in its effects, if not 
degraded into buffoonery, than any other means. 



THE COMIC STYLE. 35 

The practice of the lighter kinds of expression, em- 
bracing wit, especially in the form of satire and irony, 
gives one a greater ease and confidence in the grander 
flights of fancy and imagination, as it takes away the 
tendency to rigidity and mock solemnity, so likely to 
be induced by reading the sober and dignified styles of 
language. 

Garrick, the great tragedian, was admirable in 
comedy, and even in farce. Daniel Webster, with all 
his profundity, Henry Clay, with all his skill, were both 
remarkable for their wonderful powers of mimicry, and 
either could " set the table in a roar." 

Shakspeare excelled in writing comedy as well as 
tragedy ; he courted the comic as well as the tragic 
muse ; and in the midst of the highest tragedy he gives 
us the lowest comedy. 

He puts the crazed King Lear and the Fool out in 
the same terrible storm ; and in Hamlet he gives us the 
unhappy Prince and the witty grave-diggers, even 
amidst the solemnities of burial, in jocular repartee. 

Our best and most successful orators are those who 
are witty as well as wise. Their finest arguments are 
set oft' with illustrations of the most diverting and 
amusing character. 

The young are too frequently discouraged in their 
attempts at wit, or in the recitation of humorous selec- 
tions, from the fear of contracting light and frivolous 
habits. But this is wrong and highly injudicious. 

To be a loe^Z-balanced, not a o;?e-sided orator, a 
person should have an unerring command over expres- 
sions of both wit and gravity. Dry-as-dicst oratory is 
not for the present age. 



36 VOICE AND ACTION. 



ACTION. 



Action is infinitely various, and requires to be well 
set off by great propriety of motion, by study and 
minuteness in the disposition of tbe body. Awkward 
attitudes and gestures detract the mind from the mat- 
ter to the manner. 

As it is in reading with expression, so the basis of 
real effective action is re«^ feeling. So important is this 
that it will compensate defects ; but there is no incon- 
gruity between feeling and the highest grace in action. 
When the feelings are truly enlisted these graces will 
increase their power, for they will come spontaneously 
from previous jDractice. 

Even in pausing, the speaker should retain the 
expression, attitude and action, for they fill the chasm 
as though more were coming. By suspending the 
voice and changing to silence, the attention is arrested, 
and it seems as though nature were dictating; as 
though the speaker were reflecting. Cicero says, that 
the boat moves on from its momentum after the row- 
ers have ceased their efforts. 

In highly dramatic styles of language, attitudes are 
ravisbing when graceful, appropriate, and occasional ; 
but disgusting when crowded and awkward. 

It is highly improper to get ready to start, in a 
passion. In nature sudden terror has no action of its 
own, but rivets us to the posture we are in ; or at most 
averts the head from, or projects the arm against the 
object. 

There should be no anticipation of sprawling, jerk- 
ing, or distortion. In reading Shakspeare's Hamlet, 
for example, it is outrageous to make preparation to 
boldly stare the ghost in the face. It would be far 



GESTUHE. 37 

better for the reader to forget for a moment his own 
power a little, and think of the shadow. 

The graces of gesture and action are simplicity, 
smoothness, and variety. They consist in changing 
from one position to another in the free, untrammeled 
movements of the dnctile limbs, added to general sym- 
metry and harmony ; but before variety of grace can be 
obtained there must be flexibility. 

The most awkward person may give expression, but 
rigidity of muscle and stiffness of body destroy grace- 
ful action. 

The habits of students are especially awkward and 
ungraceful, from their physically inactive life which is 
continually cramping and restraining nature. They 
daily weaken vocal and muscular power and lose con- 
fidence in themselves as speakers. There should be 
no restriction on the mind such as uncertainty, bash- 
fulness, and timidity. 

The head should slightly imitate the hands in every 
motion. The speaker should not stand too erect, but 
gently wind his body in graceful keeping with the sen- 
timents, using great judgment. The lower limbs should 
change with the ideas, but great caution must be ob- 
served, especially in dignified discourse. 

Imitative gesture should be limited to the light 
styles of expression and never used in serious delivery. 

When a man clenches one fist the other does not lie 
in a quiescent condition. While the face is stern and 
vindictive, there is energy in the v^holeframne; when a 
man rises from his seat in impassioned feeling, there is a 
certain tension and straining in every limb and featare. . 

If one of those parts were active while the others 
were in repose, he would present a cramped and spasm- 
like appearance. 

The character must be uniform or there will be no 



38 VOICE Al^D ACTION. 

truth in the expression. Even in the most animated 
language some persons are like statues. 

There should be nothing violent, no contortions, no 
forced attitudes for effect, but we should do just as we 
would even in tlie most exciting situations. Exagger- 
ation of physical action is often mistakenly given for 
the quiet of deep mental emotion. 

By long practice we acquire the power to appear 
perfectly natural^ easy, and unlabored, without rule or 
apparent effort. Different styles of language require 
different styles of gesture. Tragedy, epic poetry, lyric 
odes and sublime description require bold, magnificent, 
graceful, and varied action in their highest cultivation. 
Orations, generally speaking, especially those abound- 
ing with plain arguments, need merely energetic, sim- 
ple and slightly varied movements. 

The gestures of the public speaker must be few 
and vary according to circumstances of situation, 
audience, and language, but they must be decided 
rather than merely graceful ; earnest and manly, not 
delicate and effeminate. 

The speaker should be cautious of adding the 
slightest trait to the simple but grand character of 
natural action, for instead of making the appeal 
stronger it is sure to weaken it. Each gesture should 
have a sufficient reason for its being used. Yigor is 
given by excitement of the breast, lips, and nostrils ; 
while the posture and the look of the eye add direction 
and meaning. 

By a just energizing of the functions we can work 
out all the capahility of expression in the words as 
they severally make up the sense. We must never 
drop a gesture until the period has closed ; but vary 
the movement in a suspensive manner as we continue 
until the voice falls at a cadence in the language. 



GESTURE. 39 

The speaker must not alternate his gestures, by 
using one hand and then the other, in the same period 
of language. 

In speaking of lake and river, of hill and valley, of 
the east and the west, use but one hand, in indicating 
the direction of each feature ; or, what may sometimes 
be still better, in denoting extreme distance, bring up 
one hand to mark the first object or direction, and sus- 
pend it while the other is also raised to denote the 
opposite idea, and keep both hands out until the sense 
is concluded. In noting several consecutive objects, 
the one hand or both should be used in the same man- 
ner as in representing opposites. Sometimes the eye 
follows the gesture for a very short time, but never 
continuously. We should closely watch children be- 
fore they become cramped and enervated by artificial 
habits. We should patiently, carefully observe statues 
and paintings from the best masters. We should not 
seem to have"Studied gestures, but conceal the art so as 
not to present the teast appearance of design. 

The bold flight of the hawk and the eagle might be 
given as illustrations of bold, free, and sv/eeping 
gestures. 

In private, lay about lustily, to acquire the bold, 
sweeping, graceful style ; in public, use gesture spar- 
ingly, but when used make it effective. The speaker 
should learn to stand still ; to move to the word ; to 
know how and when to move. Sometimes he must 
change instantly ; at other times modulate through the 
language. 

If the ideas are numerous, but similar, the gestui'es 
and actions should be few and similar; if dissimilar, 
then the actions should be varied. The practice of 
gesture and action may be cultivated to the highest 
state. Every part of the body and limbs must be 



40 VOICE AND ACTION. 

carefully and patiently exercised; even the neck can 
be used effectively in some situations ; great flexibility 
of the -fingers is positively needed in elegant and 
refined expression, and the eye can add wonders if 
properly used. 

THE PASSIONS. 

The passions are the impelling forces of life ; and 
without these, a man is as useless in the world as if he 
were without brains. He cannot be good, he is only 
innocent. God gave us passions lor a full, natural, 
symmetrical development; and the grandest type is one 
with these thorougly trained. Eloquence is a complete 
paradox ; one must have the power of strong feeling, 
or he can never command the sympathy of a varied, 
crowded auditory ; but one must control his own sen- 
sations, for their indulgence would enfeeble execution. 
One must practise effects beforehand in his own mind. 

The actor never improvises a burst of passion; 
everything is the result of pre-arrangement and fore- 
thought. O'he instantaneous agony, the joy that 
gushes forth involuntarily, the tone of the voice, the 
gesture, the look, all which pass for sudden inspiration, 
have 'been rehearsed again and again. 

He who expects to excel must study from himself, 
and compare his own pi-oved sensations under grief, 
happiness, anger, pain and all ordinary variations of 
human events and feelings, with the emotions he rep- 
resents. His skill lies in the excellence of the imitative 
reality ; for he is not nature, but art producing nature. 

But whatever the sublimity, the terror or beauty, 
the necessary vigor of the action to convey the passion, 
we must not forget that there is a limit to all human 
expression, beyond which is distortion and grimace. 



NATUEAL LAWS. 41 

Men are subject to the laws of nature, and the 
most frenzied fancy is compelled to abide by them. 

To counteract exaggerative effects, we should pay 
attention to living, breathing models ; we should take 
every opportunity in the streets and in the social circle, 
to argue with persons and watch them. We should learn 
expression, by observing men and children — anxious, 
active, eager to talk ; we should especially notice the 
terror and anguish of persons in scenes of danger and 
trouble ; see their faces, hear their voices, particularly 
when their movements are unconscious. We should 
also turn to the calmer scenes of life and study the 
nobler but subdued passions, so greatly touching ; the 
repressed softness of strong, great souls. Both should 
be well understood. 

In the thorough acquirement of these extremes 
great skill is necessary, for every excellence borders 
on some deformity; the simple upon the cold and 
inanimate, the bold and expressive upon the blustering 
and overcharged, the graceful upon the precise and 
aifected ; the one becomes, the other distorts expres- 
sion. 

The greatest effects can be produced naturally by 
rules, yet as if unconsciously. 

Nature Avill show you nothing if you set yourself 
up as her master. You must forget self and try to 
obey her ; you will thus find obedience easier than you 
think. 

Instead of servilely copying the style of another, 
imitate conceptions; do not tread in footsteps, but 
keep the same road ; labor on principles to get the spirit. 

Study not only the eifect of the passions upon others 
but also the effect upon your ov/n face, that you may 
distinguish the difference between an alteration of the 
features expressing the feelings, and the grimaces 



42 VOICE AND ACTION. 

that attend a play of the muscles. Errors will continu- 
ally offend not only the informed, but even the unculti- 
vated, although they cannot tell the reason. 

Want of simplicity is destructive of dignity. 
There is a pure, chaste modesty, as it may be called, in 
opposition to a bold, impudent, glaring color of passion ; 
but some think they cannot have enough of this violent 
contrast. 

There is frequently more eloquence in a look than 
it is possible for any one to express in words. We are 
charmed, awed, incensed, softened, grieved, rejoiced, 
raised, or dejected according as we catch the fire of the 
speaker's passion from his face. The look muscularly 
stamped on the face makes the same impression on the 
body. 

When a passion is lengthy in expression, stop and 
decrease the power; then burst again to shade the 
emphatic parts. 

Highly intensive states of mind, such as alarm, 
terror, anger, and similar conditions, suppress the force 
of utterance ; feeling gets control, and the whole soul, 
mind and heart are to be thrown into a few words. 

Perturbation, confusion, perplexity, and like states 
of excitement have an aspirated, explosive energy; 
not pure quality or vocality. 

In terrible paroxysm the soul quivers in majestic 
nakedness. Tn frenzy the tones of voice are dignified 
but terrible ; although just before it the person is some- 
times quiet. 

In great excitement and intense feeling, the eye has 
a wild, frantic, savage, leopard-like glare. But the 
most awful idea of agony is a forcible burst of passion 
and then a sinking into the utmost softness. 

By a strong effort the outward tokens of passionate 
grief must be restrained, for men will not have its 



IMITATING THE PASSIONS. 43 

violence obtruded upon them. To preserve the dig- 
nity of his " character " the true actor permits those 
uncontrollable signs of suffering, alone, to escape which 
betray how much he feels and how much he restrains ; 
and in quivering motions, gentle smiles, slight con- 
vulsive twitchings he shows the truth of nature. It is 
then that we have the most afflicting picture of human 
anguish. It is effected by a perfect, harmonious action 
of the heart, lungs, chest, neck and face. 

Pausing in passion, when properly used, gives one 
an idea of vastness; if too frequent, it tortures the ear 
of the hearer. To re-commence after a pause with a 
single blow — a crash, is startling in its effects. 

Imitate the passions until the habit becomes reality. 
As an assistant, conceive strongly first the image, or 
idea of the passion in fancy to move the same impressive 
springs within your own mind whicli form that passion 
when it is undesigned and natural. 

Exercise very cautiously — be delicate, even in the 
boldest expression ; powerful, unguided emotion kills 
at a stroke. Public speakers have died in a burst of 
eloquence. 

Though a person be in perfect health, mental agony 
will force blood from the nostrils, and cause instant 
death. Culture regulates and balances excessive ten- 
dencies ; it teaches us to avoid apathy on the one hand, 
and overstrained energy on the other. 

By their amazing powers of eloquence many orators 
have surpassed the best of actors. The orator incul- 
cates great living truths; the actor plays only the 
semblance. 

Mentally, Shakspeare illustrates the passions in 
their highest possible condition ; he not only gives 
them, from the most delicate to the most furious, but 
he also minutely describes their appearance and effects. 



44 VOICE AJ?D ACTION. 

Intellectually, Shakspeare was the Master of the passions 
and the human heart. 

The Features. — When the soul is at rest the 
features are tranquil. Their proportion, harmony and 
union seem to mark the serenity of the mind. When 
the soul is excited the visage becomes a living picture. 
Each emotion is designated by some corresponding 
feature, where every impression anticipates the will 
and betrays it. 

The Eyes. — The passions are particularly painted 
and soonest perceived in them. The eye seems to share 
every emotion, and belong to the soul more than any 
other feature ; it receives and transmits impressions 
until general. The whole heart sometimes looks from 
the eyes, and speaks more feelingly than all the bursts 
of eloquence. 

The Eye-bkov/s. — The eye-brows are the most 
apparent feature, and are seen farther than any other. 
Le Brun thinks they are the most expresssive. The 
more movable they are in elevation and depression 
the more noticeable they become. The other features 
are not so much at command in this respect. 

In pride and pleasure they are raised ; in pain and 
thought, depressed. Those who have this feature most 
at command are most likely to excel in expression ; 
but an excessive and improper use is disgustmg. 

The ISTose. — The nose has slig-ht motion in strono^ 
passions. Widening, it adds boldness. 

The Mouth and Lips. — The passions have great 
power over them in different degrees. 

The face with its muscles does more in expressing 
the passions, than the whole human frame besides. In 
Anger it is red, or pale ; in Fear, pale. The mouth 
opened shows one state, and shut, another ; the forehead 
smooth shows one, wrinkled, another. 



ACTOES AND ORATOES. 45 

The eyebrows can be arched, or drawn down. The 
eye has a diiFerent appearance in every different state. 
Joy opens and Grief half closes it ; while it flashes in 
Hatred and Anger. Animation will light even heavy 
features. The expression of the face goes beyond and 
increases vocality in its effects. 



THE GREAT MASTERS OF THE PASSIO:N"S. 

Those who seem to have had the greatest command 
of the passions were Demosthenes, Cicero, Bourdaloue, 
Massillon, Curran, Grattan, Pitt, Henry, Kossuth, 
Webster and Clay as orators ; and Garrick, Mrs. Sid- 
dons, Talma, the elder Kean, the elder Booth, and 
Macready as actors. 

We can append only a few ideas gathered from 
various sources that relate particularly to the passions, 
as illustrated only by actors. We have no traditional 
account of orators in this particular respect. 

But first a word from the celebrated Dr. Rush. He 
says ; " The actor holds, both for purpose and opportu- 
nity, the first and most observed position in the art of 
Elocution, and should long have been our best and all- 
sufficient Master in its school. The Senate, the Pulpit, 
and the Bar, with the verbal means of argument or 
persuasion almost exclusively before them, have so 
earnestly or artfully pursued these leading interests, 
that they have not observed nor indeed wished to 
observe, how far the cultivated powers of the voice 
might have assisted the honest or the ambitious purpose 
of their oratory. But v\ith the stage, distinction is 
attained through speech alone. The stage, however, has 
not fulfilled the duties of its position; for though hold- 
ing the highest place of influential example in the art, 
and enjoying the immediate rewards of popularity, it 



46 VOICE AND ACTION". 

has done little more than keep up the tradition of its 
business and routine ; without one serious thought of 
turning a discriminative ear to their vocal excellence, 
and thereby affording available instruction on the 
means of their success." 

MRS. SIDDONS DE. RUSH. 

" If she could now be heard, I would point In illus- 
tration to Britain's great mistress of the voice ; since 
that cannot be, let those who have not forgotten the 
stately dignity of Mrs. Siddons, bear witness to the 
effect of that swelling energy by which she richly en- 
forced the expression of Joy, and Surprise, and Indig- 
nation. A whole volume of elocution might be taught 
by her instances. 

" All that is smooth and flexible, and various in in- 
tonation, all that is impressive in force, all that is apt 
upon the countenance, and consonant in gesture gave 
their united energy, and gracefulness and grandeur to 
this one great model of Ideal Elocution." 

EDMUND KEAN. 

His acting was a return to nature. He produced 
startling and wonderful effects, the most extraordinary 
and sudden contrasts. His acting was electric, vivid, 
ten-ific. He had the power of sending forth super- 
natural glances of the eye, which gave his utterance a 
fearful reality. 

G. v. BROOKE. 

He had a majestic carriage and delicate tenderness. 
He could evince subdued, yet most appalling despair, 
on discovering innocence after murder. (Othello.) In 
Sir Giles Overreach, he was an incarnate demon, blasted, 
paralyzed by lightning at the moment of triumph. 



ACTOES AND THE PASSIONS. 47 



MACEEADT. 

In the fifth act of Werner Le could utter a cry or 
yell of agonized despair that was horrible ; like the 
fearful utterance of a disembodied wretch upon the rack. 
It was wrung by Gabor from miserable, shrinking 
Werner, with his heart torn and lacerated till it 
breaks. 

THE ELDEE BOOTH. 

Everything he uttered came with all the point 
and efiect of which the matter was susceptible ; every 
thought seemingly concentrated on the subject. His 
hate was violent and unrelenting. His villainy, bold 
and romantic, and he gloated in the sweet satisfaction 
of revenge. 

ISABELLA GLYNN. 

Her death-scenes were poetic in conception, and 
supernatural in manner. Emotions by her were carried 
to the terrible. In Margaret, the Prophetess, her in- 
spiration was marvellous, towering above till the be- 
holder shrunk with shuddering dread; awfulness to 
her became familiar. 

In Cleopatra, in the death-scene with the asp, there 
was a glory upon her countenance as she anticipated 
the meeting in the shades. She had a sublime, fearful 
energy in jealousy and rage, and possessed a physical 
nerve little suspected. She had great judgment, how- 
ever, in deferring manifestation of power. Upon the 
whole it was rather that she was informed by meta- 
physical power, interpreted by mental indications, than 
material forces. Her mind was masculine, and endowed 
w^ith extraordinary intellectual strength. She had a 
strong sense of independence and honor. Her life was 



48 VOICE AND ACTION. 

spent in close study and practice. Her excellence was 
founded upon principles ; each character was a new 
application of them. 

She knew the value of long pauses ; had great 
flexibility of voice, and not a word was lost in quick or 
slow time. 



HABITS OF THE OEATOR. 

The Public Speaker should bathe frequently, and 
after drying the body, apply a gentle friction, for a few 
moments, by rubbing or patting the chest to keep the 
lungs healthy and active. He should also take exer- 
cise in the open air. 

He should stoutly resist the temptations of smoking 
or chewing tobacco, as decidedly injurious to the pure 
quality of the voice. 

The excessive use of sweetmeats, nuts, and confec- 
tions of any kind, has a clogging character on the vocal 
organs. 

Warm bread, pastry, rich puddings, cake, and 
highly-seasoned, greasy, or salt food, affect the voice 
through the instrumentality of the stomach. In short 
anything that injures the latter affects the former. 

It is highly injurious to speak just after a hearty 
meal, for the digestive and mental powers cannot ope- 
rate well at the same time. The blood is drawn to 
the brain and throat at such a time, when it is 
needed to warm the stomach to aid it in assimilating 
the food. 

The teeth should be kept clean as an aid to distinct 
articulation. It is well to brush them a short time be- 
fore speaking. 

Have the clothing loose to allow a free circulation 
of the blood. Be especially careful about the nec?c ; 



FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 49 

have tlie collar-band ^;ery loose, and never handage nor 
muffle the throat. 

The muscles of the throat become soft and unelastic 
when kept from the an*. A speaker absolutely needs 
them strong and firm, or he cannot intone his syllables 
with accuracy and purity of sound. 

Clergymen abuse their throats by winding thick 
cloths about them, which produces a cramped and 
tender condition of the muscles, and induces irritation, 
buskiness, and " clergymen's sore throat " — the disease 
so prevalent among them. 

A few things that tend to improve the quality 
of the voice for any special occasion, ai-e figs, 
apples, soft-boiled eggs, oysters, raw — or, if cooked, 
without milk or butter — stale bread, crackers, or similar 
diet ; no milk, tea or coffee, but plain water, and by no 
means, stimulants. Plain sugar clears the voice. 

The ancients used onions and garlic freely, to pro- 
mote the tone and purity of the voice, but the age has 
so advanced in some respects that we might deem them 
objectionable. 

For hoarseness do not take troches, or similar nos- 
trums. They contain drugs which stimulate for the 
moment, but ev^entually destroy the voice. Habit begets 
the necessity of using them. Instead, take simple re- 
medies ; drink cold water at night, or use plain syrup 
or molasses, or some other means as simple. Do not 
eat lemons or use acids for such a purpose just before 
speaking ; such things only clog the stomach, inflame 
the throat, and, consequently, cannot instantly improve, 
but rather injure, the voice. 

If necessary to walk about much, or to any distance, 
before speaking, do it gently, not rapidly, so as to ber 
come fatigued and exhausted. Sit quiet, if possible, a 
short time before speaking. 
3 



50 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Abstain from the use of water while speaking. It 
requires digestion to a certain extent, and must, there- 
fore, more or less interfere with the oratorical powers. 
It is only a vicious habit to stop every lew moments to 
swallow a large draught of water. A person must 
reform this habit, which he blindly commenced, if he 
desires an untrammeled use of his mental and vocal 
powers. 

Even in the warmest weather, and when perspira- 
tion is freely induced, there is no necessity of drinking 
at the time of speaking, even if it should occupy an 
hour or more. A moderate quantity of water, not too 
cold, may be drunk half an hour before, or very soon 
afterward. 

Form the habit of breathing while going to the 
place of public speaking. Sound the voice gently, in 
deep undertones, that you may appear in good condi- 
tion when you commence to speak. 

All this can be done without attracting the attention 
of passers by on the road or street, whether in the vil- 
lage or the city. 

DESIGNED ESPECIALLY FOR STUDENTS. 

In moving from your seat to the stage, rise easily, 
but firmly. As you approach the place, feel your 
whole weighty by a manly, dignified, yet simple walk. 
Do not bend the knees mincingly, but swing the lower 
limbs easily and gracefully at each step. 

Let the lungs be slowly, quietly filled, until the 
moment of commencing; this efibrts sends the blood to 
the brain, and gives it power to act with firmness and 
decision. 

It prevents nervousness, and gives the voice fulness 
to start well. It prevents a burst of loudness, so com- 
mon to young orators in commencing their orations. 



FOE STUDEXTS. 51 

In bov.'ing to the President and other officers, (on 
public occasions.) let the movement be one of great 
respect. The whole form should bend slightly, and the 
hands should hang loosely by the side. To the audi- 
tors, however, as you turn to them, the effort should be 
but a slight inclination of the head. 

The orator at that moment should see his audience, 
even to the farthest person before him, and dboce him, 
if the buildins: have a-alleries. 

The motion should be general in its character ; not 
with the mere formal idea of bowing, but feeling that 
the motion is really but the opening expression of the 
first sentence of the oration. It should be a kind of 
looking around the place, and a gathering together of 
the attention of the hearers immediately preparatory 
to the positive use of the voice. 

There should be hardly a perceptible difference of 
effect between the bow and the beginning of the speech. 
Students, especially, often err in isolating the bow, by a 
protracted time in its application, from the vocality that 
follows. It is a part of the oration, not a separate, dis- 
tinct feature , and if not given properly, there is a void 
— a something that cannot be agreeably filled, but 
must be forgotten as the orator proceeds. 

The only way of doing this correctly is, slightly and 
slowly to bend the head, not the body, searcliing around 
with the eyes, and56ew?y the audience, and then to step 
forward and hegin to speak, icliile the head is gradually 
resuming its natural upright position, thus beginning 
with the bow itself, and not after it is made. 

You look into the eyes of persons Avith whom you 
converse, and you must do the same wdth an audience, 
from the moment you turn to them until you leave 
them. 

Ordinarily there should be no gestures in commenc- 



52 VOICE AND ACTION. 

ing ; the look of the eye aad the slight movements and 
swaying of the head and body being sufficient. 

In reading an essay it is proper to make a slight bow, 
but seeing the audience as in speaking. While utter- 
ing the first sentence move easily forward a few steps. 

When you become deeply interested in your subject 
move occasionally, but do not step and walk needlessly 
about. Either extreme, of standing still, or of walking 
all over the stage, is to be avoided. There is a simple 
mean, which is, moving as though you were impelled 
to do so. 

Become so thoroughly imbued with your subject, 
by frequent and repeated communings with it, that 
standing still will become almost impossible, and step- 
ping about will disturb rather than assist you. 

Be careful that every vocal expression is to the pur- 
pose, and that you have a good reason for every ges- 
ture, look, and movement. Speak and gesticulate as 
though you could not help speaking, and in just that 
manner, as though any other could not possibly answer 
the purpose. 

Do not make mere motions, but study the necessity 
of gestures. Avoid alternating gestures ; use the same 
ha.nd for pointing out different objects and localities, 
when enumerated in the same period of language. 
Vary the direction of the hand, and give another 
form to the motion, but do not drop one hand and raise 
the other, but if necessary use both. Be sure to sustain 
each gesture, by varying its direction, until the idea has 
closed with a cadence of the voice. 

In preparing an oration or exercise for a public oc- 
casion, the first thing is to have a general understand- 
ing of the lohole composition, by reading it all over 
carefully a number of times. Think of its prevailing 
spirit, and get a plan of it fixed in your mind. 



PROMrTIXG. 53 

Do not begin by memorizing the first sentence and 
then the second. That begets the depraved habit of 
only knowing the words. Study the entire oration in 
meaning first ; next separate the ideas ; then take the 
phraseology, and lastly the words. 

It is only in some such manner that you will ever 
get the spirit of the language ; and learn to listen to 
yourself^ Avith the assurance of having others listen to 
you with gratification and pleasure. 

Even after the oration is well committed, review and 
reflect upon it sentence by sentence, until you get all 
you can out of each, especially just before using it in 
public, or it will only sound like a mere declamation. 

The night before is an excellent time to make it 
fresh for the next day, no matter how often you may 
have previously looked at it. Search it through and 
through in a variety of ways. Study the words as so 
many links, and have their tone and full grammatical 
and expressional meaning. Keep it together as a whole 
in your mind. 

Be especially cautious in the pronunciation of com- 
mon words, such as been, again, against, often, little, 
and, none, nothing, ignorant, patriot, patriotism, na- 
tional, government, &c., which are often fiightfully dis- 
torted by students. 

Peomptks-g. — Of this I wish to make a special note. 
Above all things never allow yourself to \)Q prompted. 
It is extremely annoying and disagreeable to refined 
and sensitive people to feel that a person has committed 
merely so many toords, but it is far worse to know that 
another is ready with a manuscript to prom2yt his un- 
certain memory. 

With such an exhibition, one " spouiingj'* another 
prompting^ " primary" children might be pardoned, 
but students ought to be ashamed. 



54 VOICE a:n-d actioi^. 

It evinces the grossest indifference to the feelings 
of the audience, and betrays a servile dependence upon 
mere terms, instead of having thoroughly imbibed the 
true spirit of the subject. 

To be sure, the words are necessary, but let them be 
well committed^ and do not sacrifice, in the few minutes 
only, the patience of the many by the mere laziness of 
purj)ose in an indwidztal. 

It is even better and far more manly to take the 
manuscript from your pocket and read, than to be 
prompted. The best way is, to study it so completely 
that you will not need to do CA'en that. 

GENERAL DIRECTIOISrS. 

Begin with a moderate voice. Try to feel at ease 
by looking around, and shaking off any stiffness of po- 
sition. Keep your mind composed and collected. 
Guard against bashfulness, Avhich will wear away by 
opposition. Think of what you are going to say, and 
not merely of the audience. 

Be manly but simple. You must acquire assurance 
— Flrst^ by thoroughly mastering your subject, and 
the consciousness that you can make what you are 
to deliver worth hearing. Secondly, by wholly engag- 
ing in it, with the mind intent on it, and the heart 
warmed with it. 

Never be influenced and moved by outside circum- 
stances. Be yourself and Tcnoio yourself 

Have a presence that fills the limits. Whatever 
changes you may have occasion to make in voice and 
gesture, should be simple and easy, so as not to detract 
from the interest. Have your gestures in argumenta- 
tive language aimed directly to your audience ; look 
into their eyes and not into a vacuum. 



BEFORE AN AUDIENCE. 55 

Make tliem feel that it is to each of them that you 
are speaking ; yet speak to all at once. Search and 
penetrate the entire mass of listeners. Have the power 
to distribute expression. 

The tendency of youthful orators is to look point 
blank directly in front of them, and to lean with the 
body toAvards the right hand alone. The position should 
be impercej^tibly changed suiiiciently often to keep the 
attention of each hearer constantly on the alert. 
Be sure that every one is listening to you, and yet do 
not individualize^ as it is extremely disagreeable to 
an auditor to find himself selected from the rest. 

Look around frequently from side to side, from end 
to end, quietly and easily, and control all your hearers. 
Instead of simply making them hear you, haA^e them 
listen to each word by your pronouncing it clearly and 
distinctly. 

Do not speak too loud, but have the intonations of 
the voice full, strong, and sonorous. Do not betray 
mannerisms in either voice or action. 

Whether you speak before a large assembly, or in a 
small room, do it naturally, but in either case have the 
requisite power to properly fill the space with your 
voice. Address yourself, at each moment, however 
light the sentiment, to the farthest person in the place, 
for everybody wishes to hear. 

When you have attained the strength beyond which 
you cannot go without forcing the voice, stop there 
until you have acquired the requisite power by ele- 
mentary drill. i^Tever raise the pitch, but increase the 
force. 

In echoing buildings, speak slowly and distinctly, 
pause often, and try to adapt the voice to the peculi- 
arities of the place. 



50 VOICE AN"D ACTION. 

Even under t1ie most annoying circumstances, be com- 
posed and listen to your own ideas as if you were an audi- 
tor instead of the orator. This will prevent declamation. 

Kever get out of breath, nor appear to be fatigued. 
Breathe unconsciously, by forming the habit ; every 
kind of puffing and panting is disagreeable. 

By breathing deeply we stir the blood, animate the 
thinking powers, and prevent nervousness and hesita- 
tion. 

[N'ever lose or relax entirely the grasp in expression ; 
increase or diminish the force, raise or lower the pitch, 
but never entirely slacken the nervous power that holds 
all together to the end. 

Even in the lightest sentiments hreatJie out the ex- 
pression, so that the meaning of each word is felt by 
all. 

Deliberate, reflect, think, as it were, from head to 
foot, of what you are saying, word by word, and yet 
spanning it as a whole ; retaining the meaning, by in- 
tonations, looks, and actions, and still collecting ideas 
that follow, till the entire subject is brought to a satis- 
factory termination. This makes an audience listen 
rather than simply hear. 

They can then understand line by line, idea after 
idea, each exactly and accurately as a part of the 
whole. 

The mind must act comprehensively^ and hold sway 
over the entire subject, as the voice intones and deals 
out the parts ; the sense is to be held suspended and 
swayingly, without break or interruption, to its close. 

Appropriate gesture and action will assist very ma- 
terially to hold and bind it together in this desired 
manner. It helps to point out, to note the meaning by 
the movement of the hands, the head, the eyes, the 
body and feet — in fact by all parts of the frame. Ges- 



READING IN PUBLIC. 57 

ture is not absolute, yet must not be merely impulsive 
motions. 

In reading from a book or manuscript, hold it low 
enough to allow everybody present to see your face ; 
a good rule is, that the top of it would touch your 
chin if inclined toward the body. 

In reading look from the book or paper as frequently 
as possible, as if you were speaking, but with less 
action. Practice first in private, in a conversational 
manner, and when in public give satisfactory force. 

SHORT HINTS. 

Be natural ; do not aim at ioo much /do not try to 
read, but to feel ; do not declaim, but talk ; be collo- 
quial, yet not prosaic ; \)Q forcible, but not ranting. Be 
in earnest, profoundly in earnest. Be moderate in ges- 
ture ; be impetuous and ardent ; do not command by 
sympathy, but by power, passion, will — indomitable 
will. Keep the body firm and braced in high excitement ; 
keep the sinews braced up like the strings of a harp or 
violin ; be simple and without parade. Speak as though 
the whole thought was your own ; give passionate 
thoughts a rapid condensation ; give the words a vi- 
bratory intonation ; suppress force, and treasure strength 
and power. Concentrated tones of passion are better 
than the highest fury . Imbue each thought with all 
its capability of expression, and conceive fullest force 
in each particular. Be intense and passionate in inton- 
ation, the whole soul absorbed. In the severest passions 
delineate to appal ; be real ; let the form fill the eye 
of the listener. Effect by tone of voice, the power of 
the eye, the motion of the hand, and the quality of the 
sound given. Fervor is sure to effect. Head like one 
possessing good sense unconsciously ; be the character, 
3* 



58 VOICE AOT) ACTION. 

forget self. Conception of ch^iYSiGter, or passion, comes 
long before execution^ is not imitation but reality oi feel- 
ing. To be a hero, feel to be so. Do not despise trifles. 
Do not guess but determine abilities. Practice often^ 
for the vocal organs become paralyzed for want of 
action. 



BEAUTIES OF DELIVEEY. (ABBEEVIATED). DE. BAEBEE. 

Voice — full, strong, agreeable. 

Simple Melody — not monotonous. 

Enunciation — exact, audible ; not affected precise- 
ness. 

Recurrent Melody — not monotonous. 

Sigh Tones — on emphatic words free from monot- 
ony. 

Radical Stress — effectively used. 

Quality — not drawled, or sung. 

Consonants — free from drawl. 

Slides — Pitch, downward. Had., positive. 

Vcm. Stress — not monotonous. 

Cadence — proper place. 

Parenthesis — Paragraphs — changed by transitions 
of Pitch, Time, and Quality of Voice. 

The Sense — vividly expressed by the vocal powers. 



PRACTICAL ELOCUTIOK 



BREATHma. 

Voice is breath converted into sound ; and the lungs, acted 
upon bv the muscles of the diaphragm, as the handle to the 
blacksmith's bellows, are the principal organs of respiration. 
The more breath, and the greater the power of these muscles, 
the stronger and fuller the voice. There should be no more 
action of the inner' muscles and lining of the throat than is 
absolutely necessary for comjplete and firm intonation^ for in 
this manner the throat receives no injury. Practice this 
either in the open air, or be sure to have plenty of fresh air 
in your room. 

ExEECisE. — Stand erect, throw the shoulders back, keep 
the neck straight, concentrate the mind on the lower muscles 
that propel the air from the lungs, giving them all possible 
space. Breathe a few times naturally. 

Then draw in air slowly, steadily, making little effort, 
through a ve?^ small orifice of the month, with the lips com- 
pactly " pursed " together. "When the lungs are completely 
filled, retain the air fir a moment, then breathe all out slowly 
and quietly, letting the chest down very gradually. Then 
breathe once full, then out, in the ordinary manner. 

It is well, during the breathing,. t() gently pat the lungs 
with the hands. Practice this very cautiously at first. If 
dizziness ensue, stop for a while, move about, and relief will 
follow. 

If the exercise is too severe, for beginners, do not repeat the 
efifort often until custom has made it easier. "When able to do 
this without injurious effects, practice it rigidly as of the first 
importance. 



60 VOICE AND ACTION. 

[Note.— The greater length of time occupied in this exercise the better. 
The author can breathe easily for two or three minutes inwardly, and then, 
reversing the effort, breathe out, occupying very nearly the same amount oi 
time. 

Exercise. — Breathe out all you can of the natural air that 
may he in the lungs ; press the chest and ribs inwardly, and 
crowd them ahout under the arm-pits with the heels of the 
hands to squeeze out what air may he left, and breathe back 
again quickly. 

Move the shoulders forward, when breathing out, and 
backward when breathing in to aid these efforts. 

A variety of these exercises should be devised by the pupil. 
They promote the expansion and capacity of the lungs, and the 
elasticity and moMlity of the chest. Immense advantage will 
be derived from gymnastic drills of this character. 

Exercise. — Arms forward at right angles with the chest ; 
breathe slowly till the lungs are comfortably filled. Draw the 
arms gently back, emptying the lungs, then project them. 
Then throw them violently forward, then backwaid, closing 
the fists as they return. Do not overdo. If a person should 
practice nothing else than the foregoing exercises, he would 
find the voice improving wonderfully in strength and fulness 
within ?i.few weelcs. 

Eemark. — As soon as practicable, learn to breathe through 
the nostrils instead of the mouth, especially when drawing in 
the air, as tliis process is less liable to parch the throat, and 
produce irritation. Tiiis manner of breathing will widen the 
nasal cavity, strengthen the muscles of the nostrils, keep the 
lungs healthy, and improve the quality of the voice. Persons 
unaccustomed to an energetic employment of the lungs find 
it exceedingly difficult to use' the nostrils effectively. The 
preceding exercises are designed to develope a litile lung 
power first, and are not likely to prove injurious if the air is 
drawn very slowly, and through a very small aperture of the 
lips. Even when loalhing, especially if moving rapidly^ learn 
to keep the -mo\\i\\ firmly shut, and breathe exclu-Hvely through 
the nose. Lung and even other diseases, are brouglit on more 
frequently from an open mouth, particularly when sleepivg, 
than from almost any other cause. By putting the mind upon 



BEEATHIXG EXERCISES. 61 

it with a determination to succeed, the habit of keeping it 
shut can be acquired both for waking and sleeping hours, for 
the results of what is resolutelj done in the one time will un- 
consciously be carried into the other. There is a philosophy 
in this breathing process that perhaps need not be explained 
in a work of this character. 

EXERCISES. 

Audible. — Fill the lungs sh^wly through the nostrils ; 
then open the mouth, and slowly give the sound of K (KTi). 

FoEOiBLE. — Fill the lungs and cough, or explode the voice 
upon the sound of HA! ! ! or draw in the air and then expel 
it with the utmost vehemence without vocality. 

Sighing. — (An extreme conditi(m.) Open the mouth, fill 
the lungs suddenly, and also emit suddenly. 

Gasping. — Similar to sighing, but the air cannot pass in 
fast enough through the mouth and nostrils combined; it is an 
unnatural, exhausted condition, a struggle for breath. 

Panting. — Is somewhat similar to sighing and gasping. 
Tiie air is drawn in quickly and violently, and emitted loudly. 

Loud Whisper. — In this the voice is high, with pure aspira- 
tion. It is an excellent practice but must be indulged in with 
great caution. Count, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. 

Exercise in Yocality. — Slowly fill the lungs through the 
nostri's, and then very deliberately count 1, — 2, — 3, — 4, — 5, — 
6,— 7— 8,-9,— 10. 

Exercise.— Sh)wly fill the lungs, and then with the mouth 
WELL opened and arched, gently repeat, in a pure, firm, 

stea ly-toned voice, a e i o u oi ou. Have 

the sounds strike the roof of the mouth. 

Note.— Persons -with, weak lungs and throats sometimes refrain from such 
exercises; but the practice is even recommended as a cure for bronchitis and 
pulmonary complaints. 

ARTICULATION". 



12 3 4 

YowELs. — a, a, a, a, — 


1 
- e, 


Diphthongs. — oi, ou. 





2 12 1234 123 

e, — i, i, — o, o, o, o, — u, u, u. 



62 



VOICE AND ACTION. 



Consonants. — The consonants are given thus : — Stand 
firm, every muscle traced^ fill the lungs with air, and then hold- 
ing thera distended a moment, pronounce the word so as to 
feel the laliole hody partaking of the sounds. The lungs should 
be the chief object of your attention in these exercises. 
Dwell solidly on the initial sound a moment, then pass on to 
the vowel sound between, and finally, firmly bear the voice 
upon the closing sound. If properly given, these exercises will 
strengthen the muscles of the mouth and neck, and remove 
the least tendency to irritation of the delicate membranes of the 
throat. 



B-a-b 


3 

J-o-j 


2 
P-i-p 


ou 

W-o-w 


1 
Sh-u-sb 


D-i-d 


2 

K-i-k 


1 

E-o-r 


oi 

y-o-y 


Th-in-th 


1 

r-i-f 


3 

L-a-1 


2 

S-e-s 


2. 

Z-u-z 


1 

Th-o-th 


4 

G-o-g 


2 

M-u-m 


4 

T-a-t 


2 

Oh-ur-ch 


2 

Wh-u-wh 


2 

H-a-b 


2 

K-o-n 


1 
Y-e-v 


2 2 

Si-ng-i-ng 


A-z-ure 



The vowels in the preceding are to be sounded as in fate^ 

234 1212 12 34 

far^ fall^ fat^ — me, met^ — pine^ pin, — no, move, nor, not, 

12 3 

tul)e, tul), dull. Ill these two exercises are all the elementary 
sounds of the English language, and also the combinations oi, 
ou, cTi, ng, sJi, th, (light) th, (heavy) wjA,.and z (zh). 0, Q, and 
X are represented by other letters. 

[KoTE.— Pwre tone should be aimed at in all these exercises. Persons may 
thus distinguish pure from impure tones. A word or sound spoken with pure 
tone is given in such a manner that all the breath thus employed, is convert- 
ed so completely into dear vocality, that if a small lamp or candle were held 
within an inch even of the mouth, the flame would scarcely tremble. Impure 
tone, on the contrary, would have so much respiration or breath as to immedi- 
ately extinguish the light thus held. If the candle is not at all times conve- 
nient, the experiment may be illustrated by using the hand. A pure-toned 
sound cannot be felt when uttered against the back of the hand, for the soimd 
is not forced from the mouth, but reverberates within it. An impure tone is 
felt, like the breath, in proportion to its impurity or aspirated character. Thia 
shows that the more intonation the breath can have, the better, except in such 
expressions as call for aspiration.] 



AETICUXATION. 63 

However desirable distinct ai-ticulation may be, yon should 
never dwell on a sound, but give it forcibly and instantly 
change to the next without appearing to interrupt the free 
course of the breath. 

Enunciation is the basis of the art ; it is this which gives 
nerve and energy to accomplished speakers : which fills lan- 
guage with VITALITY, and renders it eeal and living. 

3 2 4 I 11x222 

ToOTOS. — a, a, a, a, ou, i, o, e, o, e, i. 

SuBTONios.— B, D, G, Y, Z, Y, W, Th, Zh, Ng, L, M, N, R^ 
Atonios.— P, T, K, F, S, H, Wh, Th, Sh. 
Abeitpt Elements. — B, D, Gr, P, T, K. (See RusTi^ on the 
Voice.) 

APcTIOULATIOlT.— YOWELS. 

aye, age, late, gale. — He gave to the gale his snow-white sazl. 
bereave, redeem, agree. — Swift instinct leaps; slow reason feeb- 
ly climbs, 
tie, rye, why, mine. — The primal duties shine aloft like stars. 
roll, dame, tone, woe. — The freed so-mI soars to its home on 

high, 
ti^be, hwe, valwe, new. — There is m-wsic in the deep \)\ue sky. 
far, bar, p^ylm, ah. — The calm shade shall bring a kindred 

calm, 
mat, man, and, at. — The good man has perpetual sabbath, 
met, let, well, end. — Thence the bright spirit's eloquence hath 

fled, 
captain, if, hit, bft. — The sick earth groans with man's inz'qui- 

ties. 
all, call, walk, awe. — Of all that's holy, holiest is the good 

man's pall, 
trwe, doo???, rwle, trwe. — Blows were our welcome, rz^de brza'ses 

our rew' ard. 
full, p-wsh, wolf, foot. — For his own good alone man sho^/ld not 

toil, 
wad, blot, odd, was. — The quality of mercy is not strained. 



64 VOICE AND ACTION. 

up, come, rwn, muff. — Some fretful tempers wince at every 

touch, 
soil, point, voice, oii. — It is the voice of jot/ that murmurs 

deep, 
sownd, lowd, vow, how. — Thow look'st beyond life's narrow 

bownd. 



SIMPLE 00NS0N'A:N'TS. 

luhe, mo5, Mh, soh, ro5. — ^Life may long 5e 5orne 'ere sorrow 

breaks its chain. 
did, dead, deed, aid — Death <^eals with all, of high or low 

(degree. 
fife, if, whijf,/ine. — Fond fancy retraces the/ar q^past. 
gag, rag, hag, gig, log. — Life itself must ^o to him who ^ave 

it. 
Aat, how, hall, hope. — I Aeard— and the moral came Ziome to 

my heart, 
hall, pall, call. — ZoneZy and lovely was the si?ent g?en. 
maim, mum, mammon. — All men think all men wzortal but 

themselves. 
ninny, none, nine, noon. — To err is hnman ; to forgive divi^ie. 
p\p, pipe, apple, hope. — Wave your tops ye ^ines in praise 

and worship, 
right, row, rang rope. — The rocks are riven, and rifted oaks 

uptorn. (trilled.) 
car, star, far, morn, warn. — His cheek is impearled with a 

mother's warm tear, (smooth.) 
^i^e, t'ivid, save, t)ine. — Fast the wave of life is ebbing from 

our veins. 
^ooe, wm, toent, wave. — "What most ice wish with ease we fancy 

near. 
year, yarn, yoke, yes — Tlien from glad ^outh to calm decline 

my years would gently glide. 
judge, ginger, age. — Eden's pure ^ems an^/elic legions keep. 
McJc, Jcept, caJce, Hte. — Wliere the sicMe cuts down the yellow 

corn, 
cease, miss, sister. — So sweet her song, that sadness weeping 

smiled. 



SIIVIPLE CONSONANTS. 65 

tint, tent, ben?, ]ent. — We ti\ke no no^e of time, hnt from its 

loss, 
was 2!0ue, rose, has. — Wi-^dom mounts her zenith to the stars. 
so?i^, thing, 'bn?ig, rung. — It mingles with the dross of earth 

again, and mingVmg falls. 
pus^, lasA, fla-S'A, da.sA. — List to thesAout, the sAockj the CTa,sh 

of steel. 
tMn, theme, hresith. — Yinth touches all things with the hues 

of heaven, (light.) 
than, thon, benea^A thus. — Then shalt thon find that thou wilt 

loa^y^e thj life, (heavy.) 
i^Aich, when, what, where. — TTAen and where shall we seek 

repose ? 
asure, measure, treasure. — N'o rapture dawns, no treasure is 

revealed, 
sia^, flaaj, mia*, tax. — Empires wane and wa«, are founded and 

decay, 
ba^s, earact, e^cist. — Let us ea;ult in hope, that all shall yet be 

well. 

EXEECISE SLOWLY — THEN EAPIDLT, BUT DISTINCTLY. 

a-b, e-b, i-b, o-b, u-b, — ^b-a, b-e, b-i, b-o, b-u, b-oi, b-ou. 

a-d, e-d, i-d, o-d, u-d, — d-a, d-e, d-i, d-o, d-u, d-oi, d-ou. 

a-f, e-f, i-f, o-f, u-f, — f-a, f-e, f-i, f-o, f-u, f-oi. f-ou. 

a-g, e-g, i-g, o-g, u-g,— g-a, g-e, g-i, g-o, g-u, g-oi, g-ou. 

a-k, e-k, i-k, o-k, u-k, — k-a, k-e, k-i, k-o, k-u, k-oi, k-ou. 

a-1, e-1, i-1, 0-1, u-1, — 1-a, 1-e, 1-i, l-o, 1-u, 1-oi, 1-ou. 

a-m, e-m, i-m, o-m, u-m, — m-a, m-e, m-i, m-o, m-u, m-oi, m-ou. 

a-n, e-n, i-n, o-n, u n, — n-a, n-e, n-i, n-o, n-u, n-oi, n-ou. 

a-p, e-p, i-p, o-p, u-p, — p-a, p-e, p-i, p o, p-ii, p-oi, p-ou. 

a-r, e-r, i-r, o-r, u-r, — r-a, r-e, r-i, r-o, r-u, r-oi, r-ou. 

a-s, e-s, i-s, o-s, u-s, — s-a, s-e, s-i, s-o, s-u, s-oi, s-ou. 

a-t, e-t, i-t, o-t, u-t, — t-a, t-e, t-i, t-o, t-u, t-oi, t-ou. 

a-v, e-v, i-v, o-v, u-v, — v-a, v-e, v-i, v-o, v-u, v-oi, v-ou. 

az, e-z, i-z o-z, u-z, — z-a, z-e, z-i, z-o, z-u, z-oi, zou. 

a-ng, e-ng, i-ng, o-ng, u-ng, — ch-a, ch-e, ch-i, ch-o, ch-u, ch-oi, 

ch-ou. 
a-sh, e-sh, i-sh, o-sh, u-sh, — sh-a, sh-e, sh-i, sh-o, sh-u, sh-oi 

sh-ou. 



66 VOICE AND ACTIOIT. 

a-tli, e-tb, i-th, o-th, u-th, — th-a, tli-e, th-i, th-o, th-u, th-oi, 

th-on. 
B,-th^ e-th, l-tJi, o-th^ u-th, — th-a, th-e, th-\ th-o, th-u, th-oi, th-ou. 
a-x, e-x, i-x, o-x, u-x, — a-r», e-a?, i-x, o-x, u-x, o\-x, ou-a;. 
a-zh, e-zli, i-zh, o-zh, u-zh, — zh-a, zli-e, zli-i, zh-o, zh-u, zh-oi, 

zli-ou. 
a-j, e-j, i-j_, o-i, n-j— j-a, j-e, j-i, j-o, j-u, j-oi, j-ou. 
h-a, h-e, h-i, h-o, h-u, li-oi, h-ou, — w-a, w-e, w-i, w-o, w-u, 

w-oi, w-ou. 
y-a, y-e, y-i, y-o, y-n, y-oi, y-ou,— wli-a, wh-e, wh-i, wh-o 

wh-u, wh-oi, wli-ou. 



COMBINATIONS OF THE CONSONANTS. 

Bd. — ehFd, soWd, — Prejudices are often imbiJe^? from cus- 
tom. 

Bdst. — pro&W.s^, staWdst, roWdst. — Tlieu thou ^roi''dst the 
wound which now has healed. 

£1. — able, Mow, hudhle, noble. — Why should gold man's feeZ»Ze 
mind decoy ? 

md.—diissibrd, doubVd, trembrd.—'Tis but the Ml'd land- 
scape of a lay. 

Bldst.—ivembVdst, hobbVdst. — Thou trembTdst then, if never 
since that day. 

;^lz, — Bubbles, pebbles, nobles. — The heart benevolent and 
kind the most resembles God. 

j^lsl^ — laumbrst, troubPst. — Hence ! thou troubrst me with vain 
requests. 

^r^ — Brave, bright, freeze. — Ocean's 5road breast was covered 
with his fleet. 

Bz. — Robes, Y\bs, -webs. — They bowed like shru&s beneath the 
poison blast. 

Bst. — Hob'st, robb'st. — With no gentle hand thou proS's^ their 
wounds. 

j)l — handle, \adle, meddle.— The brazen trumpets Mndle rage 
no more. 

Bld.—hvidVd, ^addVd.—lhj mind once kin^Z'c^ with each 
passing thought. 



DIFFICULT COMBINATIONS. 67 

Didst. — lian<ZZV7si, fomirdst. — Stung bj the viper thou fon- 

dVdst Avlien young. 
Dls. — HancZ/es, ^ynndles. — Man seems the only g^o^Yth that 

dwindles here. 
Dlst. — tindPst, \mddVst. — In thine upward flight thou dwin- 

dVst to a speck. 
Dn. — gold'n^ \2id'n^ leac^V — Angels drop on their goM';z harps 

a pitying tear. 
Bnd^ sad^n''d, hu.rd'Ti'd. — Death never saiV<^ your scenes of 

bloom 
Dns. — GartZ'^s, wavd^ns. — Our hearts are eased oihurdens hard 

to bear. 
Dr. — J9?'op, iZress, dnve. — The ^read beat of the ^?'um broke 

the <^7'eamer's sleep. 
Dst. — Didst, hadst, a,ddst. — Thou bidcZs^ the shades of d.irk- 

ness fly. 
Dth. — width, hre&dth. — The width of the stream again dis- 
mayed him. 
Dths. — hre-.idths, w'ldtJis. — It took four hreadths of cloth to 

make the cloak. 
Dz. — huds, weeds, odds. — These shades are the ahodes of un- 

dissembled ghidiiess. 
Dzh. — ^dge, lodge, image. — Oh, for a lodge in some vast wil- 
derness. 
Dzhd. — ']\nag''d, Aedg''d. — Their winglets are Q.edged in the 

sun's hot rays. 
J^L — Flay, fleeee, Jiow. — At every tri^e scorn to take offence. 
Fid. — ri^VZ, hajffVd. — The war drum is muj/ied, and black is 

the bier. 
Fldst. — tri^'ds-^, si\JVdst. — iTow tell me how thou hixffl/dst 

thine enemy." 
Flz. — ri^es, hajies, ruffles. — Is'ot to know some tri^^s is a 

praise. 
Fist — sti/?'5^, shuj^'s!^, baj^'s^.— Thou tri^'si with Avhat is not 

thine own. 
Fn. — atiffl'Ti offji, sofn. — Here shall the billows siiffl^n and 

have rest. 
Fnd. — so/'?i'6Z, dea/Vd — The woods are deafii'd with the 

roar. 



68 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Fnz. — sofns, stijf'?2S.— Truth so/'tzs the heart with its simple 

tones. 
jPn— /7^ame, /riend, re/resh. — Labor is but re/reshment /rom 

repose. 
Fs. — ^Yhiff's, i>nffs, lunghs. — Mortals, on Ij/e's later stage, still 

grnsp at wealth. 
Fst. — piT/f's^, ]augh''st. — Tliou scoff ''st at Virtue's homely joys. 
Ft. — o/t, soft^ Wii/if. — Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise. 
Fth. — fifth, twelfth. — For the ^fth time I called in vain. 
Fts. — lifts, rafts, wnfts. — Death ]\fts the veil that hides a 

brighter sphere. 
Ftst. — waftst, Iftst. — O'er the desert drear thou wsffst thy 

waste perfume. 
Od. — Begg''d, rigg''d. — The very elements are leagued with 

death. 
Gdst. — hvagghlst, dr&gg''dst. — Thou hegg-dst in vain the her- 
mit's blessing then. 
Gl. — ^Zeam, glove, eagle. — Through ^Zades and ^?ooms the 

min^Zing measures stole. 
Old. — strug^Z'iZ, l\aggVd. — He gazed enraptured on the span- 

gled canopy. 
Oldst. — ^mgVdst. — How thou vamgVdst life and death. 
Glz. — eagles, juggles. — I have roamed where the hill foxes 

howl, and eagles cry. 
Gist. — min^Z's^, struggrst. — Thou struggPst, as life upon the 

issue hung. 
Gr. — grow, griip, grief. — The p'roves of Eden yet look ^?'een 

in song. 
Gz. — lo^.9, fi^s, dregs. — The fisherman dra^s to the shore his 

laden'd nets. 
Gst. — hegg'^st, d'lgg^st. — Thou hegg''st in vain, no pity melts 

his heart. 
Kl. — Cling, cZiff, clove. — The sea gems s^farlde in the depths 

below. 
Kid. — s])-ArH^d, circVd. — Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his 

wrinkled front. 
KldM. — 'bwehVdst, eircVdst. — Star, that iwmkVdst on the shep- 
herd's path. 
Klz. — Q'garMes, circles. — Time writes no wrmkles on thin© 

azure brow. 



DIFFICULT combi:n"atio^^s. 69 

Klst. — spar^'Z's^, frecHs''t. — Tlion sparH^st like a gem of earth. 
Kn. — toFn^ deac'?i, falc'n. — By the storms of circumstance 

Knd, — wdJc'n'd^ dar^'^iW. — "With qmckened step brown night 

retires. 
Kndst. — hlsLdFii'dst^ heoA-lc'ridst. — Thoa hear^'/i'^^ not when 

wisdom bade thee heed. 
Km. — to^'ws, falc'?i«, tXAclc'ns. — Mist dar^-ens the mountain, 

night diQxTcens the vale. 
Knst. — bec/l'Ti^s^, ^sfsJc'n'st. — Thou ivxaJc'n'st there a warmer 

sympathy. 
Kr. — ^7'aken, crime. — There crystal streams with pleasing 

murmurs creep. 
Ks. — odJis, sticl-s, rod's. — Ye mouldering relics of departed 

years. 
Kst, — sha^'s^, wa7i;'s^, nea;^. — Many a holy tea:^ around she 

strews. 
Ksth. — sixth, sixth. — Henry the sixth bids thee despair. 
Kt. — sec^, wa^'^, voclyd. — He wsiJced at the vessel's sudden 

rclL 
Kts. — acf.9, sec^s, respects. — It gilds all objeci^s but it alters 

none. 
Ktst. — 'dcfst, l\M''st. — Thou acfst the manly part. 
Ld. — buZJ, ^Ibe, Albert, fiZ^ert. — The river 'Elie glides gently. 
Lbz. — hnlhs. — The hulhs have taken root. 
Ld. — gild, fieZ<:Z, mild. — He Unled and moiled each day. 
Ldz. — fieMs, iolds, wilds. — It gilds the mountain's brow. 
Ldst. — hokVst, shield''st. — Thou jielVst to fate without a sigh. 
Lf. — Self, wolf, gulf. — O how self fettered is the grovelling 

soul. 
Lfs. — sylphs, gnlfs, elfs. — It is the wolfs dreary cave. 
Lft. — ingu ?/■'<?.— The lake is ingii(/''t^ amid the hills. 
Lfth. — twelfth. — Skakspeare's twelfth night. 
Ldzh. — induZ^e, 'bilge. — Indu^^c no useless wish. 
Ldzhd. — induZ^'c/, bi/^'cZ. — He in(\Mlged his wit and lost his 

friend. 
Lie. — elk, mMTc, hvdh, silk. — List to the miZ/cinaid's song. 
Lks. — siZ^s, elks, buZ^v. — In siZ^s and satins new we worship 

in these days. 



70 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Llcst. — TmlTcHt. — Ih.oMwlWst the kine at early dawn. 

LTct. — m\Wd, — The goats were vaillced at eve. 

Lm. — E?w, Mm, YQSilm. — The heathen heel her helm has 

crushed. 
Lmd. — Mm-d, whelm'd. — He was oYGrwhelmed with douhts. 
Zmz. — fi^ws, realms. — Y'llms slow gathering dim the sight. 
Lmst. — overwheZwsi^. — Thou ovevwhelmst them with the 

whirlwind. 
Zn.—storn, sw'oVn. — Even our fallen fortunes lay in light. 
Xj9.— heZp, puZ^.— He shrieked for help in vain. 
Lps.— pulps, whelps. The nips have pinnacled in clouds their 

snowy scalps. 
Lpst. — sciilp^st, help''st. — Thou help^st me now in vain. 
Lpt. — hQlpt'd, sc/dlp'd. — I was the first that help''d him. 
Lptst. — helpd'st. — Those crumbling piles thou help''dst to rear. 
Zs. — False, dulse, else. — Oft by false learning is good sense de- 
faced. 
Zst. — F\.urst, fdVst, falVst. — Life flutters couYulsed in his quiv- 
ering limbs. 
Zt. — 'Bolt, ^u\lt, wilt. — Misery is wed to guilt. 
Zth. — weeilth, hlth, stealth. — Realth consists with temperance 

alone. 
Zths. — healths, tilths. — In drinking healths, men but invite 

disease. 
Zts. — holts, melts, faults. — The assaults of discontent and 

doubt repel. 
Ztst, — halfst, meWst. — Thou melfst with pity at another's 

woes. 
Zv. — twelve, valve, solve. — O, fix thy firm reso^-ye wisdom to 

wed. 
Zvd. — invoZ-B'*^, resoWd. — E"o fate with mine iuvolv''d. 
Zvz. — wolves, elves, valves. — Man resolves, and re-resolves, then 

dies the same. 
Zvst. — revohst, dissolvst. — Thou solv''st the problem at the 

expense of life. 
Zz. — toils, steals, calls. — Peace rules the day, when reason 

rules the mind. 
Md. — fam'd, namW, bloomW. — Let us keep the soul emha\med 

in living virtue. 



DIFFICULT COiFBINATlOXS. 71 

Mdst.—i\\i\m''dst, 'bloom'dat. — Tliou doom'dst thy victims to 

death. 
Mf. — njmj^h^ triumpJi. — He lias set the triuw^y^-seah 
Mfs. — nymphs, trmmpTis. — What are man's triumphs f 
M/t. — triumphed. — Life's last rapture trmmph''d o'er her woes. 
Mp. — \>omp. — \sxmp. — Through the swamj) and meadow. 
M^ps. — hwips, lanijjs. — How poor the po?«^9S of earth. 
Mpst. — thu»2p'6'^, dampest. — Thou damp''st their zeal already. 
Mz. — gems, plums, comes. — Thou art freedom's now and fame's. 
Mst. — doomht^ seem 'si. — How wretched thou seem'si. 
Mt. — ^vompt^ contempt. — Be ever prompt to answer duty's 

call. 
Mts. — temptts, ]}rom2Jts. — He tempts the perilous deep at dawn. 
Mtst. — tcmpfst., -prompfst. — Thou -prompfst the warrior now. 
Ifd. — end^ \&nd, n\md. — With lieart and hand together siand. 
Ndz. — ends., \>\^nds.^ \tonds. — The rivulet ^ends forth glad 

rounds. 
Ndst. — hendst, sendsf. — Answer how thou fouTztZ'si^ me? 

Cs'.ng, long, ring. — Ding-dong, ding-dong I go the bells. 
IT'g. — < si7iging, swinging. — Exulti?^^, trembli?^^, ragin^^, faint- 

( ing, running, leapi7^^. 

IT'gd. — wrong^l, winged. — The snowy winged plover. 
j^gdst. — twang'dst^ wronghlst. — Thou wrongd''st thyself to 

write in such a case. 
JVgz. — songs, fangs, rings. — Peace scatters blessi?2^s from 

dewy wings. 
ITgst. — 'Ring^st, cMng'^st, sing'st. — Thou c\ing''st in vain. 
N'gth. — strength, length. — He was the proudest in his strength. 
Ngths. — lengths. — Short views we take nor see the lengths 

behind. 
Nglc. — dvink, rauK — His drin^, the crystal well. 
Nglcs. — pvanlcs, Ijnx. — In each low wind raethiw^s a spirit calls. 
Nghst — thanVst, t\nn'k''st. — O, deeper than thou thin^'si I have 

read thy heart. 
NgM. — ranked, th-anJuhl. — He th;ml^e(^ me for my trouble. 
NgMs. — precincts. — He has left the warm precmcts of the cheer- 
ful day. 
Ndzh. — hinge, range, fringe. — Possessions vanish and opinions 

change. 



72 VOICE AND ACTION, 

Ndzhd. — VQ-vQng''d^ chsing^d. — The pine is iv'mg'd with a softer 

green. 
JSfs. — iQnse^ sense^ dance. — In search of wit some lose all common 

SQTise, 
JVst. — ca^s^, against. — Give what thou cnn''st. 
Ntsh. — hencJi^ launch. — Now lannch the boat. 
JVlsht. — ]si\inch''d^ wrencli'd, — He wrenched the chain. 
JSft. — lent, ra,nt^ went. — He went to see money made not spew^. 
I^th. — tentJi, hjSiGmth. — Few speak, wild, stormy month, la 

praise of thee. 
J!^ths. — tenths, hj&G'mths. — See the hjSicmtJis in bloom. 
JNts. — wants, tents, events.— Coming events cast their shadows 

before. 
JVtst. — h.SLunfst, wtxnt'st. — Why hau^i's^ thou the land. 
Wz. — lews, meam*, veines. — Slow and steady wins the race. 
PI. — plume, j^Zaid, plod. — The^Zoughman ji??ods along. 
Pld. — dimprd, trampl'd. — Morn is gleaming in the da^pFd 

east. 
Pldst. — tYaimpld''st, -^^opldht. — Thou ivB>mpld''st them down. 
Plz. — temjjles, v\\)ples. — Age has on their temples shed her silver 

frost. 
Plst. — tYBimpVst, Yx^pVst. — Thou train^Z's^ in soorn on the flower. 
Pn. — deep''n, op''n. — His ears are open t') the softest cry. 
Pnd. — op'n^d, ^idxphid. — There stands the x\pen'd grain. 
Pnz. — shar^Vs, op'^ns — The ceaseless flow of feeling deepens 

still. 
P7\ — -^ride, praise, ^rint. — P^'ompt to relieve, the prisoner 

sinjis his praise. 
Ps. — lips, traps, hops. — Thought sto^s and fancy droops. 
Pst. — di-oop>''st, h62j''st — Thou wi'a,Tp''st the world in clouds. 
Pt. — wept, s\e2)t,t\']pp''d. — The clouds be few .that intercej?^ the 

light. 
Pis. — prece;?^ interce^^fs. — Just precepts are from great exam- 
ples given. 
Ptst — acce^^'s^, interce^9^'si. — Aceepfst thou in kindness the 

favor ? 
Pth. — deptJi. — Launch not beyond thy depth. 
Pths. — depths. — From the depths of air comes a still voice. 
Rh. — orb, garb, curb, verb. — Gurb, O cur6 thy headlong speed. 



DIFFICULT COMBINATIONS. V3 

Bid. — disturJ'tZ, ^Q.rVd, — l^o drums distu?'5'6Z his morning 
sleep. 

EMst. — cnrM''8t^ disturb d''st. — Then thou curbd^st thj mad 
career. 

Bbz. — orbs, ga^rbs, bar5s. — iTot a breath disturbs the deep se- 
rene. 

Hbst. — curb'st^ absorVst. — Thou 'barb''st the dart that rankles 
sore. 

Ed. — h'vrd, cord, herd. — Embroider^^^ sandals glitter^i? as he 
trod. 

Edz. — birds, words, cords. — Silver cot-^s to earth have bound 
me. 

Edst. — regar(i's^, rewar^Z's^. — Thou veward^st the evil and the 
good. 

Ef. — Tu?^, serf, dwarf. — Everj tnT^/" beneath their feet. 

Efs. — serfs, dwarfs. — When dwarfs and pigmies shall to giants 
rise. 

Eg. — iceberg. — The iceberg has sealed their fate. 

Egs. — icebergs. — In polar seas where icebe?'^s have their 
home. 

Edzh. — lar^e, nrge. — Toward the verge sweeps the wide tor- 
rent. 

Edzhd. — sco\irg''d, \irg''d. — Like the slave scowged to his dun- 
geon. 

EJo. — dar^, la7'7r;, wor^. — Rise with the lar^, and with the lar^ 
to bed. 

EJos. — ma?'^s, bar^s, lar^s. — He mar^s tlieir tracks in the snow. 

EMt. — worlc'st, vaarlc'st. — 'KarTc'st thou, mj son, yon forester ? 

Eht. — iw.rlc'd, worFd. — For this he worFd, for this forsook his 
bed. 

EMst. — harFdst, lurFdst. — Of yore thou lurFdst in caverns, 

EL — curZ, snarl, -pearl. — There the pearZ-shells spangle the 
flinty snow. 

Eld. — world, curVd, furVd. — Eound his head the war-cloud 
curled. 

Eldst. — furWat, hurWst. — Thou hurld^st the spear in tri- 
umph. 

Eldz. — worlds — What are worlds of wealth ? 

Elz. — pear?«, curZs, ana,rls. — They are glittering pearfe. 
4 



'14: VOICE AND ACTION, 

Mist. — curVst, furVst. — Again thou unfur^sif thy wings. 
Mm. — arm, warm, harm. — Arm, arm / and haste to battle. 
Mmd. — arm^d^ harmW. — Armed^ armed say you ? 
Rmdst. — harm^dst, Wiirm''dst. — Thou arm''dst the hand that laid 

thee low. 
Mmz. — arms, forms, storms. — The surly storms are softened. 
Bmst. — charm's^, alarm's^, — Thou charm'sf the ear of man. 
RmtJi. — yRarmth. — With honest warmth he met me. 
Mn. — mor?i, scorn, Mm. — Live, stung by the scorw- of thine 

own bosom. 
Rnd. — bur72,W, scorri'd. — yearned by the signs, they fly in haste. 
Rndst. — returwfi's*, warri'dst. — It is well thou learn'dst that 

lesson young. 
Rnz. — morTis, urns, horns. — On the golden wave the sunset 

burns afar. 
Up. — ^har^, war^, sharp. — Time is the warp of life. 
Bps. — harps, warps, sharps. — They sing to their golden harps. 
Rpt. — warp'dJ, usurpW. — Trade hath usurped the land. 
Rs. — -purse, scarce, curse. — Fierce to the breach they sprang. 
Rsh. — harsA, marsh. — O'er marsA and moor. 
Rsf.— ^rst, worst, hurst. — There came a bursi5 of thunder. 
Rsts. — bursifs.— A flood of glory bursas from all the skies. 
Rt. — art, port, dirt, cart. — How vast is art, how narrow human 

wit. 
Rts. — ar^ porifs, hearfe. — The sporifs of children satisfy the 

child. 
Rtst. — star^s'^, hur^s'^. — "With these thou flirfe'^, and smil'st. 
Rth. — ear^A, worth, forth. — From this day forth give each his 

worth. 
Rths. — earths, hearths. — Our hear^As shall brightly blaze. 
Rtsh. — ^marc^, larch. — We may resume the march of our 

existence. • 
Rtsht. — search'' d, parch'' d. — Pygmies are pygmies still, though 

perched on Alps. 
Ri). — uerve, starve, aurve. — Swer^'e not from duty's path how- 
ever rough. 
Rvd. — Qurv'd, starved. — Life is thus pveserved and peace 

restored. 
Rvdst.—starv''dst. pveservd'^st. — Thou preserv^dst his life. 



DIFFICULT COMBINATIONS. 15 

IRvz. — nerves, curves. — Then tlie firmest nerves shall tremble. 
Bmt. — ViQrvst^ swermt. — I thank thee ; thou nGrv''st my arm. 
£z. — bars, stars, wears. — We leap at stars, and fasten in the 

mud. 
Sf. — spAere, spTijnx. — The freed soul soars beyond this little 

sphere. 

0-7 ^ sArill, sArink. — The bat shrill shrieking flies away. 

I s/mne, sAriek. — And freedom sArieked as Kosciusko 
fell. 

Sib. — s/^ill, s^ip. — It is a land unscathed by scorching tear. 

/Sfcr. — screen, scribe. — Across the wiry edge he drew the 
screaking file. 

/S^. — des^s, tas^s. — He as^s no more than is riglit. 

SJcst. — asFst, bas>?;s't. — AsFst thou to whom belongs this val- 
ley fair ? 

S7ct. — sisFd. hasFd. — He visFd his own, another's life to save. 

SI. — sZime, whis^Zc. — Slow tolls the village clock. 

Sid. — whis^Z'<^, nes;^Z'd. — The loud blast whistled shrill. 

Slz. — nestles^ this^Zcs. — The grass rustles drearily over his urn. 

Slst. — rustlsH, -aestrst. — Thou wvestVst singlj with the gale. 

Sm. — swiile, smoke. — The s?7iooth stream now smoother glides. 

S71. — snow, pers'^. — The moonlight sleeps upon the snow. 

Snd. — lessV^j lisfri'd. — He listened to the music. 

Snz. — lisfm, pers'ws. — How the eye of beauty glistens. 

Snst. — less'?i'si5, hsisfn^st. — Onward thou hasteii'st home. 

Sp. — s^an, s^eed, spar. — Sport leaped up and seized his beechen 



Spl. — spleen^ splendid. — The splendor of such sights. 

Spr. — sprsij, springy sprig. — In >iS^ring's footsteps sprang her- 
bage and flowers. 

Sps. — grasps, lisps, clasps. — The youthful ivy clasps the oak. 

/Spt-^claspW, grasp'tZ. — Pope lisp'd in numbers, for the num- 
bers came. 

St. — s^and, stop, star. — Hasi thou a charm to stay the morning 
siar? 

Str. — si^roll, strive, sfrong. — They have s^rown the dust on the 
sunny brow. 

Sts. — misfo, tastes, coasfe. — All things seem large which we 
through mists descry. 



76 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Stst. — tnsfsf, \\sts''t. — 'Now, with what awe thou lisfst the 

wild uproar. 
Tkn. — leng^A'Ti, strength'^n. — Who would iQUgthen life? 
Thnd. — iQugtKn'd^ stvengWn^d. — These proclaim my lengthen- d 

years. 
Thndst. — \ength''n''dst, strengthhi'dst. — Palsied is the arm thou 

strengWn'dst. 
Thnz. — streng^^'Tis, leng^^'?is. — He leng^A'?2s the hour, in vain. 
Ths. — jontJis^ fiiitJis. — YoutTi's bright hours are fleeting. 
Tht. — betro^AW.— She was early betro^A'^ to a Highland 

Chief. 
Thr. — tliroh, throne, thriW. — Soft as the thrill that memory 

th7'ows across the soul. 
Thd. — brea^^'^, BootVd, hath^d. — They sheathed their swords 

for lack of argument. 
Thz. — bathes, tithes, ^aths. — The pa^As of glory lead but to the 

grave. 
Thst. — smoothsH, wvith''st. — O guilt! thou hQ>th''st the world 

in tears. 
Thdst. — smootK'dst, vfvitVdst. — Thou smooth''dst his lonely 

brow. 
Tl. — title, cattle, rattle. — The reef-points rattle on the sail. 
Tld. — rattrd, titVd. — He prattled less, in accents void of 

guile. 
Tldst. — rattVdst, startVdst. — Thou stavtVdst the slumbering 

tenants. 
Tlz. — \itles, turtles, hattles. — How the blood mantles in his 

cheek. 
Tlst. — star^Z'si^, rat^Z's^. — The wild deer thou startlst in the 

shade. 
Tn. — Mtfn, mitfn, hntfn. — Hew blessings hrighten as they 

take their flight. 
Tnd. — whii'Ti'c?, swee^Vt'd^. — The snow now whiteri'd the earth. 
Tnz. — whi'i'ws, sweefns. — Thy mercy sweefns the cup of woe. 
Tr. — ^ribe, ^read, i^rade. — Time's giddy arch with ifrembling 

foot we ^read. 
Tsh. — cAarm, cAime, cAurch. — Youth is not ricA in time. 
Tsht. — touch''d, watch''d. — Hence have I watched while others 

slept. 



DIFFICULT CO:^iBI]S"ATIOJ^S. 77 

Tshst. — snatcTi'dst. — Thou to\ich''cM his wounded heart. 

Ts. — hats^ roots, hats. — Ten censure wrong, for one who writes 

amiss. 
Tst. — siti's^, shouf St. — Once on Phyle's brow thou ssitVst. 
Yd. — li'j'<Z, 1om'<^5 saw'cZ. — He sa«W thy life. 
Vdst. — lovhlst., mv'dst. — Thou depri-aWsi me of all. 
Yl. — ev'Z, shcy'Z, hovH. — Their hopes still grovel on this earth. 
Yld. — sho-u'ZZ'cZ ^hrWlVd. — It seared and ^hvWlVd up his 

heart. 
Ylst. — shot^'Z'sif, shri'ij'rsi. — Thou unraw'Z's^ the very threads 

of being. 
Yldst. — rSuvHTdst. — Thou ViiirQfG'lVd''st the yarn. 
Ylz. — eyVs, shriy'Zs. — So shri-y'Zs the leaf in the Autumn blast. 
Yn. — se-w'yi, drb'??, cra'o'n. — Thy bonds are riven. 
Ynz. — ra?5'ns, hea«'?is. — ^Qoxeri's sapphire arch is its resplen- 
dent dome. 
Yntli. — ele-y'TZ^A, SQv^nih. — You came at the eleventh hour. 
Yz. — wai'es, gro-y^s, leaves. — The groves were God's first 

temples. 
Yst. — mov''st, rav''st, ^rov''st. — Weigh well thy words before 

thou gii's'^ them breath. 
Zd. — gaz'd, raised, us^d. — Sudden he gazed, but knew not what 

to do. 
Zl. — haz'l, daszle, ipuzzle. — It is a i>uzzle indeed. 
Zld. — dazzVd, yuzzVd. — ^My eyes are dazzled with the flame. 
Zldst. — dazzVdstj ^^uzzVdst. — Thou -puzzPdst the brain of the 

sage. 
Zlst. — pu^^Z's^, dazzVst. — Thou dazzVst the eye with thy rays. 
Zlz. — hazVs, -puzzles. — He i^uzzles over a doubt. 
Zm.— 'prism, chasm-. — The sky shone through the fearful chasm, 
Zmz. — prisms, chasms. — The billows sink to chaswzs low. 
Zn. — blas'n, crims'?i. — He sinks on the frozen ground. 
Znd. — h\az''n''d, crimsVW. — It is hlazoned forth to all. 
Znz. — seas'7?s, blas'ws. — Thou hast all seas6>7is for thine own. 
Znst. — reas-n^t, hlaz^n^st. — How well thou reaso?2-'s^, then. 



78 



VOICE AISTD ACTION. 



Bu-ld, 
Ga-r5, 
Pro&W, 

Abso-rZ)'cZ, 

(dzhd) 

(Idzhd) 

(ndzhd) 

Vv-g^d, 
Go-Id, 
Tvem-bVd, 
Viid-dld, 

Twin-Jd'd, 
Dim.-prd, 

'Wo-rld, 

(sld) 
'Whi-strd, 
'Rat-tl'd, 

Puz-sZVZ, 

IsTa-^wVZ, 
"Whe-Zm'cZ, 

H ar-<i'7i'6Z, 

Dea-/'7i, 

Dea-/ViW, 

Wa-/f;V<i, 

Shar-j:)'7i'£?, 

'Whi-fn'd, 

Leng- th^n^d, 

Bla-s'w'c?, 

Gua-rcZ, 

Pro-'y'c?, 

Eeso-Zv'(^, 

Sta-ry'<^, 

Ga ^'c?, 

Brea-i^AW, 

She-Z/ 

Trium-^A, 

Tu-r/, 



iceberg, 

(tsh) 
be-7?c7i, 
nia-7'sy^, 
cA-aru), 
ma-rcA, 
y^l-dth, 
ij-fth, 
twe-lfth, 

wa-ronthj 

\e-ngth, 

tQ-nth, 

de-pt7i, 

lio-rth, 

mdu-tge, 
ra-nge, 
ha-rge, 
s\-lJc, 
tha-w^, 
ma-r^, 
ta-sh, 
&Z-ind, 
cra-dle, 
Ji-oov, 

gl-OYQ, 

tw'm-Jde, 

spl- endid, 

fu-rZ, 

sZ-eep, 

gen-tle, 

sho-'w'Z, 

daz-sZe, 

rea-Zw, 

wa-rm, 

sm-ile, 

pri-sm, 

la-(Z'?^, 

dea-/'?i, 

leng-Wn^ 

hea-tJi'n^ 

to-Fn, 

sto-Vn, 

shar-^X 



mo-?'?z, 

fro-z'Ti, 

he-lp, 

-po-mp, 

ha-rp, 

sp-an, 

&r-ave, 

<^r-eam, 

^r-een, 
s/^r-ine, 
cr-inie, 

^r-ide, 

spr-ain, 

ifr-ibe, 

str-'ive, 

thr-o\e, 

P"-Jfs, 

gu-Z/s, 

triu-???jt?As, 

dwa-rfs, 

tm-ths, 

hvea-dths, 

hea-Uhs, 

mo-nthSy 

le-ng ihs, 

de-2jths, 

hea-rths, 

oa-ks, 

s\~lks, 

iha-7iJcs, 

ma-rlcs, 

de-s/f^, 

■pu-lse, 

de-nse, 

W-ps, 

whe-lps, 

\a-mps, 

ha-rps, 

lisps, 

ho-rse, 

foo-^s, 

tu-/fe, 

fa-cfe, 



me-lts, 

-pr o-mpts, 

GY e-nts, 

pvec\-7ictSj 

Y)re-ce2)tSj 

da-rts, 

-mists, 

ih\-rstSj 

so-ft, 

ingu-lf^d, 

trium-ph^dy 

}au-nch''d, 

tou-cJh'd, 

ma-rcTi'dy 

fa-ct, 

mi- Wd, 

tha-nFd, 

ma-rFd, 

hasFdj 

sa-U, 

(mt) 
pro-mpt, 
Vfa-nt, 
hu-rnt, 
te-pt, 
he-ZpW, 
wa-rp''d, 
li-sp''d, 
pa-rt, 
st-ee], 
pro-5'5^, 

d\-dst, 

pYO-d''dst, 

'be-gg\Ist, 

gi-ld''st, 

trem-5ZWs(5, 

hr'i-drst, 

tri-Jl'dst, 

Tain-grdst, 

twin-Jcrdst^ 

tram-prdstj 

cur-rrdst, 

(sld St) 
rustVdst^ 
stdr-Wdst, 
daz-zld^st, 
Bho-vH^ dst, 



DIFFICULT COMBIXATIOIsrS. 



19 



Bee-m^dst, 
wa-rm'dstj 
se-nd''st, 
den-fri'dsf, 
liQai,!' Jc'ii'dst^ 
wro-ng^d''st, 
streng-th^n^dst, 
tvL-rn^dst, 
(sndst) 
Yi-sfn'dst^ 

lo-v^dst, 

^Q-rv'dst, 

rewsL-rd^st^ 

ingn-l/^st, 

triu-mph^st, 

he-gg'st, 

'bri-ng''st, 

ra-ng'st,—^, 

mdu-Ig''st, 

u-rg^st^ 

m\-Wst^ 
tha-n^'s^, 
ma-7'^'s^, 
ba-sFs^, 

hum-JZ's^, 

ion-dVst^ 

vxxi-JVst, 



TRm-gVst, 

trsim-prst, 

fn-rl'st^ 

rn-strstj 

StSLT-Wst, 

sho-v'' Vst, 
daz-sPst, 

whe-lm'st, 

wa-rm'st, 

GA-nst, 

vetu-rnst, 

(snst) 
li-sfn^st, 
leng-Wn^stj 
VQdi-s'n'st^ 
ho-p\t^ 
he-lp\st, 
thn-mp^st, 
'wsi-rp''st, 
li-sp'st, 
wo-rst, 
shou-f St, 
l\-flVt, 
ton-cTi'dst, 
ena-cfst, 
mi-Wdst, 
lu-rFdst, 
me-lfsL 



(mtst) 


cn-rls, 


■pro-mpfst, 


mus-cleSj 


wsL-nfst, 


ti-tles, 


acce-pt^st^ 


(viz) 


hQ-lfdst, 


Q-mls, 


^\-rfst, 


-pnz-zles, 


QnW-sfst^ 


ti-mes, 


'hvL-rsV st^ 


overwhe-lmSj 


lo-v^st, 


sto-rms, 


rGso-lv''sf, 


logari-thins, 


prese-fw'*^, 


pri-5'ms, 


(tht) 


de-ns, 


hetvo-Wd, 


ri-ngs. 


twQ-lve, 


(dnz) 


ne-rve, 


war-d''ns^ 


so- 5s, 


dea-f'ns, 


bu-Z55, 


to-Fns, 


o-rds, 


shar-p'ns, 


dee-ds, 


m.o-rns, 


^e-lds, 


lessens, 


wo-rlds, 


stTeng-th'ns, 


e-nds, 


mxt-fm, 


wsi-rds, 


hQSi-v''nSj 


hsL-gs, 


reasons, 


icehe-rgs, 


wa-rs, 


sai-?s, 


(vz) 


tvou-dles, 


gi-ves, 


^ad-dles, 


shQ-hes, 


vuf-Jies, 


cn-rves. 


ea-gles, 


hrea-thes, 


s])Sir-Mes, 




tem-ples, 





Eigidly practice upon these exercises until a distinct articu- 
lation is acquired. 



80 VOICE AI^D ACTION-. 

ANALYSIS OF THE SIMPLE AND COMBUSTED 

SOUNDS. 

Give each letter as it naturally sounds in the particular word. 

Obscure sound — short, j not like e, but i short. 
a, e, i, o, n, y, — obscure. 

a-m-i-a-b-i-l-i-t-y, b-a-r-b-a-r-i-t-y, o-p-u-1-e-n-t-l-y, 

e-v-e-n-t-f-li-], a-1-t-e-r-a-b-l-y, p-ii-b-1-i-s-h-e-r, 

i-d-e-n-t-i-c-a-1-l-y, a-c-u-m-i-n-a-t-e-d, b-li-l-l-f-i-n-c-h, 

o-p-a-1-e-s-c-e-n-t, f-oo-l-i-s-h-l-y, c-ou-n-t-e-n-a-n-ge, 

u-t-i-1-i-t-a-r-i-a-n, a-d-o-r-n -i-ug, 6-r-n-a-m-e-n-t, 

DIFFIOTJLT COMBINATIONS. 

p-r-o-b'-d-s-t, b-i-d-d'-s-t, d-r-a-g-g'-d-s-t, 

t-r-e-m-b-l'-d-s-t, h-u-n-d-r-e-d-th-s, m-i-ng-l-'d-s-t, 

2 

b-u-b-b-l'-s, a-b-o-d'-s, j-u-g-g-l'-s, 



e-m-b-r-oi-1, 


b-a-f-f-r-d-s-t, 


s-t-r-u-g-g-l's-t, 


w-e-b-s — r-i-b-s, 


r-i-f-1's, 


e-n-g-r-a-ve, 


r-o-b-b-s'-t, 


s_t_i_f-P_s-t, 


1-o-g-s— b-o-g-s, 


f-l-e-d-g'-d, 


s-o-f-t'-n'-d, 


s 

c-i-r-c-le, 


f-o-n-d-l'-s-t, 


s-t-i-f-f-n-s', 


t-w-i-n-k-l'-d'-s-t, 


b-u-n-d-l'-s, 


r-e-f-r-e-s-h, 


z 

s-p-a-r-k-l'-s, 


k-i-n-d-P-s-t, 


4 f 

1-a-u-gh-s-t, 


c-i-r-c-l'-s-t, 


g-o-l-d'-n, 


w-a-f-t-e-d, 


t-o-k'n, 


g a-r-d'-n-s, 


f-i-f-th, 


h-ea-r-k-n'-d-s-t, 


d-r-ea-d-f-u-1, 


l_i.f_t'-s-t, 


f-A-l-c'-n-s' 



DIFFICULT COMBINATIONS. 81 

b-0-l-t-e-d, 1-e-n-t, 

t 
I-n-c-r-ea-se, h-^a-1-t-li-s, l-iiu-n-cli'-d, 

6 
0-a-k-s, m-e-l-t'-s-t, a-g-ai-n-s-t, 

S-p-ea-k'-s-t, i-n-y-o-l-v'-d, t-e-n-th-s, 

I 
S-i-x-tb, w-o-l-v'-s, w-a-n-t'-s-t, 

4 t I 

E-o-ck-d — r-a-k'-d, r-e-v-o-l-v'-s-t, g-1-e-n-s, 

L-i-k-d'-s-t, b-a-ll-s, p-eo-p-P-d, 



B-u-1-b-s, 


b-l-oo-in'-d-s-t, 


t-r-a-m-p-l'-d'-s-t, 


G-i-1-d-e-d, 


t-r-i-u-m-pb'-s-t, 


i*-i-p-p-l'-s, 


r-o-l-d-s, 


t-r-i-u-m-pb'-d-s-t, 


s-c-r-u-p-l'-s-t, 


H-0-l-d-s-t, 


s-w-a-m-p'-s-t, 


sb-a-r-p'-n'-d'-s-t, 


G-u-1-f-s, 


2 

g-8-m-s, — t-o-mb-s, 


o-p'-n-s, 


I-n-g-u-l-f'-d, 


s-ee-m'-s-t, 


e-m-p-r-e-s-s, 


T-w-e-1-f-tb, 


p-r-o-rap'-t-s-t, 


s-t-o-p-s, 


I-ll-d-U-l-g'-d, 


1-a-n-d-s, — e-n-d-s, 


d-r-oo-p'-s-t, 


M-i-l-k'-s-t, 


s-e-n-d'-s-t, 


r-a-p-t, 


M-u-1-c-t, 


s-i-ng-i-ngj 


i-n-t-e-r-c-e-p-t'-s-t, 


0-v-e-r-wb-e-l-m'd, 


s-o-ng-s, 


d-e-p-tb-s, 


F-i-1-m-s, 


r-i-ng-s-t, 


b-a-r-b'-d'-s-t, 


W-h-e-1-ra-s-t. 


1-e-ng-th-s, 


o-r-b-s, 


S-t-o-l'-n, 


tb-i-n-k'-s-t, 


a-b-s-o-r-b'-s-t, 


H-e-l-p-s't, 


ng t 

r-a-n-k-d-s-t, 


a-b-s-u-r-d, 


n-e-l-p'-d'-s-t, 


b-i-u-g'-d, 


c-o-r-d-s, 


R-o'-l-l'-s-t, 


t-S-n-se, 


r-e-g-a-r-d'-s-t, 



4* 



82 VOICE AND ACTION. 

s-e-r-f-s, p-r-e-s-e-r-v'-d-s-t; s-t-r-e-ng-tli'-n-s, 

2 

u z 

i-c-e-b-e-r-g-s, c-u-r-v-e-s, f-a-i-th'-s, 

8 — — 

t 

e-n-l-a-r-g'-d, p-r-e-s-e-r-v'-s-t, b-e-t-r-o-tli'-d, 

2 

b-a-r-k-s'-t, s-t-a-r-s — s-t-i-r-s, th-r-o-b'-d-s-t, 

t 
b-a-l-k'-d-s-t, s-ph-e-r-e, b-r-e-a-th'-d-s-t, 

w-0-r-l-d-s, sh-r-i-11 — sh-r-i-ne, p-a-t-h-s, 

wh-e-n — wh-a-t, sh-r-a-n-k sh-r-i-ve t-r-e-m-b-le, 

c-u-r-P-s-t, s-c-r-e-a-m-i-ng, cb-a-r-m, 

z t 

s-n-a-r-1-s, b-a-s-k'-s-t, w-a-t-ck'-d-s-t, 

a-1-a-r-m-s, r-i-s-k'-d, sh-ou-t-s-t, 

cb-a-r-m-d'-s-t, wb-i-s-t-l'-d, s-a-v'-d-st, 

f-o-r-m'-s-t, m-u-s-c-1-e-s, r-a-v'-l-l'-d-s-t, 

— — 2 

w-a-r-m-th-s, n-e-s-t-l'-s-t, sh-o-v'-l-s-t, 

h-o-r-n-s, s-m-i-1-e, e-v-i-1-s, 

2 

r-e-t-u-r-n-d-s-t, p-e-r-s'-n, k-e-a-v-e-n-s, 

2 

s-c-o-r-n-s-t, l-e-s-s-n'-d-s-t, e-1-e-v-e-n-tk, 

sb-a-r-p-s, l-i-s-t-n'-s-t, w-a-v-e-s, 

t 

k-a-r-p'-d-s-t, s-p-l-e-n-d-i-d, m-o-v'-s-t, 

k-s z 

k-0-r-s-e, s-p-r-i-ng-i-ng, e-x-p-o-s'-d, 

m-a-r-sb, g-r-a-s-p'-s-t, d-a-z-z-l'-d-s-t, 

t 

b-u-r-s-t'-s-t, c-l-a-s-p'-d, p-u-z-z-P-s-t, 

z 

s-t-a-r-t'-s-t, n-o-t-i-c'-d, m-u-z-z-P-s, 

B 

2 

k-e-a-r-tk-s, m-i-n-s-t-r-e-1-s, ck-a-s-m-s, 

u t t 

s-e-a-r-ck'-d-s-t, e-n-l-i-s-t'-s-t, b-l-a-z-o-n-s, 



beadi:n^g by sounds. SS 

c-r-i-m-s-o-n'-d-s-t, r-a-tt-l'-d-s-t, m-i-tt'-n-s, 

z 

r-e-a-s-0-n-s-t, m-a-n-t-le-s, h-ow-e-v-e-r, 

s-ra-oo-th-s-t, s-w-ee-t'-n'-d, l-e-ng-th'-n-d-s-t. 

Pronounce also daily from the columns of a standard Dic- 
tionary. Exercises uf this kind improve the vocal organs more 
rapidlj than reading. 

Wastes and deserts ; waste sand deserts. 

He could I pain nobody. 

I pay nobody 
He whet a wet razor on his strap. 

Whoever heard of snch \ ^^ ^f.^^^' 
( a notion. 

He ought to I Approve [ ^^^^ ^ position. 



EEADrN"G BY SOrXDS. 

So|stately|her|bearing, |so|proudIher 
a rr ay, I th e | m ai n | sh e [ w 1 11 | t r a v e r se | f o r- 
e V e r I a n d I aye. He|gave|to| the|gale|his 

I s n ow I wh i te I s ai 1. Th e j ea r th | i s ] v ei 1 ed | i n 1 
sh a de s I o f I n i ght. Th e ] s on n d i ng ] ais 1 es | of j 
the| dim|woods | ra ng. F or | 1 i fe, | for | 1 i fe, | 
th ei r I f 1 i ght | th ey | p 1 y. F r o m | c 11 ff | to | c 1 i ff 

I th e I s m o k i ng I t o rr e n ts I sh i ne. W i 1 d | winds 
a n d ] m a d I w a ve s I d r i ve ( th e I V e ss el I a wr e ck. 

FOECE. 

ExEECiSE. — Commence with the lightest whisper and gradu- 
ally increase to the loudest vocaUty\ then reverse the practice. 
In either direction be careful not to change the pitch or alter 
the natural level of the voice ; also not to make the loudest 
sounds other than in a^wre, round tone. When satisfied that 
they can be given properly then practice the forcible sounds 
with ALL the lung power you can possibly bear on them, 



84 VOICE AND ACTION. 

increasing to the last. If given in impure tones, the exercise 
will severely strain the throat and induce disease. When the 
sounds can be given pure and mellow, on the natural pitch, 
the voice improves wonderfally in strength in a very limited 
time. 

Pure tones will neter affect the throat, let them be given 
ecer so loudly. Even a few weeks' practice, when properly 
conducted, will make a great change in the voice. 

1234567 8 9 8 7 654321 

.aaaaaaB-OiO^aaaaa,. 

With the foregoing severally unite Pitch, Time, Aspiration, 
(pure,) and the Tremor, and make a variety of exercises. Also 
add the same to the following: 

Awake ! arise ! or be forever fallen ! 

Seize on lnvoa.., furies^ take him to your torments! 

I call to you with all my 'Doice. 

Kext Anger rusJied, his eyes on Jire ! 

He tJirew his Mood-stained sword in tTiimder down! 

Loud surges lash the sounding shore ! 
ExEnoisE. — Let this be moderate at first; never foeced; 
solidly, firmly, promptly, especially in the loudest tones. Do not 
raise the pitch of the natural voice. To vary the exercise, add 
separately, Pitch, the Tremor, Aspiration, (pure,) and the Semi- 
tone ; each constituting an independent pi-actice. 

1. As soft ns possible. "] 

2. Very soft. 
8. Soft. 

4. Rather soft. 

5. Middle, ok mean. 

6. Rather loud. 

7. Loud. 

8. Very loud. 

9. As loud as possible. 

FORCE — STEESSES. 

The EADioAL STRESS IS the explosive or bursting style of 
voice. It is used to express anger, rage, fear, impetuous cour- 



f MARCH ! HALT ! HALLOO ! WOE ! 



rOECE — STRESSES. 85 

age, and startling emotions. " Ha ! dost thou not see ? " " To 
AEMs! They come ! the Geeek ! the Geeek ! " " Strike till the 
last arined foe expires!" ''Yic-tory? Yio-tory, their colors 
faU!" 

The MEDIAN commences easily, widens out to a full, round 
expression, then dies gradually away. It is used for pathos, 
dignity, deliberation, gentleness. " Hail ! universal Lord ! " 
"All HAIL ! thou 1-o-ve-l-y queen of night ! " 

The THOEOTJGH is the power placed alike on all parts 
strongly and firmly, for vehemence, courage, determination. 
" Up with my BAN-ners on the wall ! " " Tried and convicted 
TEAiTOR." "Down soothless insulter." (Suppressed force 
and vanishing stress on soothless, and aspiration on insulter). 

The VANISHING commences very lightly, widens out into a 
full, open sound, and ends abruptly. Used for obstinacy, fixed, 
sullen determination, anxious alarm, peevishness. " I will have 
my bond." " I ne'ee will ask ye quarter." " Oh ! ye Gods I 
ye Gods ! must I endure all this? " 

The iNTEEMEDiATE is a feeble, trembling voice : "I can go 
no further." 

The COMPOUND (or Ead. and Yan.). The radical begins and 
goes to the middle of the word or words, and then the vanish- 
ing does its part by ending. It is rarely used. It is an 
unpleasant, jerking sound. It is a national characteristic among 
the Irish ; used in surprise, raillery, earnest questions, impor- 
tunate entreaty. "Aem warriors! aem for the fight! " ''Gone 
to be MAEEiED, gone to swear a peace ? " " Dost thou come liere 

to WHINE ? " 

THE SEMITONE. 

The semitone is simply a plaintive, pitiful expression. 
"Pity the sorrow^s of a poor old man." 

THE TEEMOE. 

Add a trembling, shaking voice to the above, and the effect 
will be greatly enhanced. 

"Thou glorious mirror," — a-a-a-, e-e-e, i-i-i, o-o-o, 
u-u-u, oi-oi-oi, ou-ou-ou. 



86 VOICE AND ACTION. 



THE LOUD WHISPER. 



The loud whisper is a most admirable practice — no vocality ; 
a, e, ij o, u, oi, ou. It is very difficult, but will be found a 
a great means of improvement. Kot too frequent, and stop 
when giddy or pain is felt. 1, 2, 8, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. 

Example. — " Who comes here? Ha! tbou art the ghost of 
my murdered friend ! I cry you mercy. I implore you let me 
rest in peace. It harrows up my very soul with terror and 
amazement." Add Force, Pitch, Time, the Tremor, and the 
Semitone ; and practice each separately. 

EXPLOSIVES. 

The explosives are calculated to give depth and rotundity 
to the voice. The orotund is the orator's true voice. With 
some it is natural; with all ordinarily good voices it can be 
acquired to a remarkable degree. It is the only voice capable 
of rendering the more majestic and heroic styles of language. 
To practice the explosives, for its acquirement, and to give the 
voice outline and edge, the position must be erect, and the 
lungs filled to the greatest capacity. Hold the air thus 
accumulated until perfectly concentrated ; then burst upon the 
sounds with a quick, percussive stroke of the voice. It is best 
to have consonants precede the vowel sounds. Let the burst 
of the voice come like a clear coughing sound, but be sure and 
have no aspiration. Let the sound be extremely pure, and no 
unpleasant effect will follow its emission. Hold the breath 
for a moment firmly on the consonant, and then burst it, like the 
report of a pistol, on the vowel. 

Explosives.— B-a ! B-e ! B-i ! B-o ! B-u ! B-oi ! B-ou ! 
0^^ Practice these also with Pitch, Aspiration, and the 
Semitone. 

Emphasis. — " I'm tortured to madness, to think of it." 
'•'■ K cultivated taste converses with a pictfee." 
" Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven." 
" God said, ' Let their be light ' — and there was light." 



87 



PITCH. 



Begin with the natural voice, and having the lungs com- 
pletely filled make the sounds rise one above the other, as you 
would in music, except that the sonnds must be spoken, and 
not sung. Make each sound, as you pass up this speaking 
scale, full and round. Else as though counting 1, 2, 8, 4, 5, 6, 
7, 8, 9, 10, &c. The number of sounds will depend upon the 
slowness or rapidity of enunciation. Kise beyond where the 
voice breaks into the falsette. Carry it np as high as it is 
possible to convert the air into sound. Begin again, with the 
natural voice, and pass down the speaking scale. Make each 
sound, as before, round, pure, and full, to the very lowest. 
Then pass up from the natural to the highest in uninterrupted 
sound, then down from the starting point to the very lowest 
note. The first manner of going up the scale may be called 
skipping, the latter sliding. The sounds may be called skips and 
slides, or discrete and concrete sounds. The skips or discretes, 
are used in the simplest forms of reading ; the slides in very 
emphatic styles. The voice passing up the scale to any desired 
point, and then passing immediately down in one continuous 
movement, upon the same breath, is called a wave. It can 
be reversed, and commence by going down first and then 
rising. The greater the distance to which it rises and falls, or 
falls and rises, of course varies its intensity of expression. 
[See Exercises, page 88.] 

Also, practice the Pitch with the Semitone, or Plaintive 
movement of voice, and afterward add the Tremor, or Trem- 
ulous style, and Aspiration. 

In singing, the voice continues on the same level for each 
sound ; while in speaking, it never rests for a single instant on 
the same pitch, but rises, or falls, according to the direction 
given to it until the sound ceases. 

The Slide has great beauty; endearing in tone, and some- 
times plaintive and desolate to tears. 



88 



VOICE AND ACTION. 




. — L ..-. — Have you my book? Ans. — No, I 
have my own. 

Interest. — Ques. — How came he here ? Ans. — ^I do 
not know. 

Eagerness. — Ques. — How dare you thus 
provoke me ? Ans. — I do not fear you. 

Passion. — Ques. — How now, are we 
turned Turks?— Ans.— Let's kill, slay, 
slaughter. 

High Pitch. — Oh ! I conld mount with rapture to the yqyj 
stars. 

Natueal Yoioe. — Morn is gleaming in the dappled east. 
Low Pitch. — Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! 



PITCH. WAVES. 89 

SmpLE "Wave — Direct ; and inyerted, thus : — 
*' I come to hArj Csesar, not to praise him. 

(direct) (inverted) 

The waves of the third^ fifth, and octave are rarely used, 
though, if practiced, they will assist in developing the voice. 
Take the sounds, and give a longer, fuller expression, until the 
thirds, fifths, and both octaves, direct and inverted, have been 
exemplified. 

Direct and Inverted Waves — Of equal thirds, fifths, 
octaves; unequal thirds, fifths, octaves: — a, e, i, o, u, oi, ou. 
You talk of grief? You a prince's son ! 

(inverted unequal) (direct unequal) 

The unequal waves are for difi'erent degrees of time and 
fulness of the contemptuous and sneering styles of expression. 
As represented in the diagram, the sides of the wave are of 
unequal ^ength. 

Continued Wave — is a number of waves, seldom used — 
a, e, i, o, u, oi, ou. But it is an excellent practice. 

Sigh notes tire the muscles of the neck, but are excellent 
aids in deepening the tones of the voice, to strengthen and 
invigorate the vccal powers. 

To whis2Jer forcibly an octave cibove and then telow^ is 
exceedingly diflQcult, but is highly beneficial. 

Conversation might be visibly represented by the 
size of the letters in which these lines are printed. 

Public Speaking is only a larger conversa- 
tion^ an(i miglit proportiouably be thus exem- 
plified in larger type. 

Drawling and Monoton y might 
be illustrated in the extended stj^le here given. 

EADICAL AND VANISHING MOVEMENT. 

e e e e e e 6 

a a a a a a a 



90 VOICE ANT> ACTIOI^. 

Each vowel sound lias its rad. and van. however light the 
latter. The following words exemplify it. 



' t~(bat.) ' te— (fate.) 
b-a f-a 


* le— (dale.) 
d-a 


" rn — (morn.) "^ n — (noon.) 
m-o n-oo 


' te— (bite.) 
b-i 


e er 

in-- „, mer — „ 
A — mong nu — a — ble 


e 

false „ 

un — moved, 


e e 00 

sha — ken, „ se — duced, 
Un — nn — 


ter— ri— , 
un — fied ; 



loj — al — ■ , e kept, his „ his 

His ty he love, zea-1 



VOCALIZE AND ASPIKATE. 

10. As high as possible. — (Vociferation.)— ^^ StriJce, for the 

sires who left you free ! " 
9. Extremely high. — "I repeat it sir, let it come! let it 

come ! " 
8. Yery high, spirited. — " Three millions of people armed 

in the holy cause of liberty." 
V. High.—" The sounding aisles of the dim woods rang." 
C. Eather high. — " With music I come from my balmy 

home." 
5. Middle. — (Firm, natural.)—" A vision of beauty appeared 

on the clouds." 
4. Rather low.—" Friends, Romans, Countrymen ! " 
3. Low.— (Modest.)— And this is in the night ! most glorious 

night ! " 
2. Very low.— (Sublime.)— "Roll on, thou deep and dark 
' blue Ocean,— roll!" 

1. As low as possible.— (Solemn.)— " Eternity ! thou pleas- 
ing, dreadful thought." 



MODULATIOi^' AND MELODY. 



91 



Begin "with 
the very highest 

and descend 
line by line to. 
the very lowest 
note of the voice. ■ 
Then reverse by 
commencing 
with the very . 
lowest and rising 
to the very high- ' 

est. 
This practice will 
modulate 
the voice. . 



-1-10 
-2-9 
-3-8 
■4-7 
•5-6 
-6-5 

-r-4 

•8-3 
-9-2 
■10-1 



f "Though you untie the winds, and 
let them fight 

Against the churches ; though the 
yesty waves 

Confound and swallow navigation 
up ; 

Though blnded corn be lodg'd and 
trees blown down; 

Though castles topple on their war- 
ders' heads ; 

Though palaces and pyramids do 
slope 

Their heads to their foundations; 
though the treasure 

Of nature's germins tumble all to- 
gether, 

Even till destruction sicken, answer 
me 
[ To what I ask you." 



Afterwards add Force, Time, Aspiration, the Tremor and 
the Semitone to both of these exercises and practice separately 
with each. 



MODULATION AND MELODY. 

MODULATION, is the Pitch of paragrapTis and sentences. 
MELODY, is the Pitch oi words and syllables in each sentence. 
The one is the geneeal pitch, the other the peogeessive. 

EXAMPLES. 

{natural voice.) {rather JiigTi^ 

The moon her- is lost in heaven ; [ but art for ev-er 

self thou 



same. 



the 



re-joic-ing in the brightness of 



thy 



course ; 



pests, I 
(low pitch.) tern- {firm^ nat. mice.) 

"When the world is dark with when thunder rolls. 



flies, I {rather high.) clouds, 

and lightning thou lookest in thy beauty from the 



92 VOICE AND ACTIOiq". 

(High.) est 

And laugh- at the {firm^ nat. Doice.) 

storm, j But, to Ossian, thoulook-est 

in 
vain. 

house, 
(nat Doice.) field, y 

The fire blasted every consumed ever- and 

(rather low) 
destroyed every 

tem- 
ple. 

(rather low.) 
Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n, 

(rather high.) tie 

Then rush'd the steeds to l)at- driv'n, 

(Jiigh.) Jieav- 

And louder than the dolts of 
(rather low.) 
Far flashed the red artillery. 

(rather high.) toioer^ 

Ye are the things that that shine.^ whose smile 

(high.) glad., 

kes (low.) 

ma- "whose frown is ter- 

ri- 

hle^ 

(high.) 
(r. high.) ing, 

Ex-ult-ing, rag- faint- 

(n. v.) ing, 

trembhng, 

■ ^) 

ed, 
light- (r. h.) 

(n. V.) de- raised, re- (n. v.) 

Dis-turb'd, fined. 

(rath, low.) less, (r. I.) 

less, less, man- life- 

Season- herbless, tree- less — 



MODULATION AND MELODY. 93 



death, — (low.) 

A lump of a chaos of hard 

clay. 



How^oor, how how abject, how au- 

rich^ gust, 

cate, 
pli- 
How com- how wonderful 

is 
man. 

(nat. voice.) time, 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of 



contumely, 
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's 

{rather high.) de-lay, 

The pangs of despised love, the lawh 

{high.) fice, 
The insolence of of- and (r. I.) 

the ?2S, 

That patient merit of the un- takes, 

{rather loio.) 
"When he himself, might his quietus make 

{low.) 
With a hare lod- 

Icin. 

iLLUSTEATioNs, {in a new form,) feom de. etjsh. 

He na- in-fi-nite 

reads in ture's book 

of se- 

cre- 
cy. 

Ti- 
drinks, hut mon's sil- ' treads 
He er ver up-on 

nev- his 

lip. 



94 



YOICE Al^D ACTION. 



drinks, 
nev-er but Ti- sil- 

He mon's ver treads 



up-on 



his 



lip. 



Ti- ver treads 

He nev- drinks, but mon's sil- upon 

er his 













lip. 


That quar-ter 


most 

the 


Greeks 
ful 
skil- 


noj, 
an- 




Where 

yon 

wild 


trees the 
fig join 


walls 

of 

Troj. 





OADENOES. 



1= Sweet' is' breath' 

(Tripartite.) the' of 



morn. 



2= The' fanned' un' num' 

{Tripartite.) air' was' by' ber'd' 



plumes.' 



8=(lst Duad.) 

tur' — 'ret' and' am' el' ' 

With' crest' sleek' en' — d' 



neokj 



4=(2t? Duad.) 
The' 



name", I' 
ing', not' the' ca' — 



5={Feedle Cadence.) 

by not' s^ — 

No\ tlie rood' o\ 

Q={False Cadence.) 

Of more ex I boast' 

wiles in pert 

not.' 



CADENCES XKD PITCH. 95 

(10) 

9 (high.) 
8 

7 MELODY AND MODULATION. 

6 

= = =NAT. VOICE. 

5 

EXTEAOT. OTHELLO. (SHAKS.) 

2 

1 (low.) 

*and' tor' me', 

^dost' Mer' her' 
''If thou' slan' 



«'re' 
^ISTev't — er' pray' more' : ^don' all' 
V — ^ban' — 


morse' ; 


®hor ror's' ®hor' ^ac' 

*0n' ^head' ^rors' cum'- 


— u'- 

*late'; 



*weep', all' 
®n' ®earth' a' — 

'make' Heav" — 'mazed'; 

^deeds' to' 
^Do' 

Tor' 

®noth' — ing' ^to' 

^canst' thou' dam' ua' — tion' 

*add; 

^Great' er' 

'than' 

^that.^ 

INTONATION AT PAUSES. 

the' aph' Ab' faith'— ful' 

So' spake' ser' — diel' ; found] ^ 

mong' the' Faith' — on' 

A'— faith'— ful' ly' 

lo^i. he. 



96 VOICE AND ACTION. 

in' — mer' — false' 

A' — mong' nu' — a' ble' im' — moted', 



Un'- 


shak' 


—en', 


nn'- 


se' — duced\ 


un' — 


ter'— ri'— 


His' 


loy'- 


-al'— 


tj' 


hept'^ his' 
he' 


love\ 


his' 

zed — 

i: 


Nor' 


num' — 


■ler\ 


nor' 


am— p?( 
ex' — 


3', wrought' 
with' him' 


To' 
i 


3wer've 


from 


change' Ms' 
truth'] or' con 


stant' mind'y 



Though' 

sin(g7 

gle> 



INTEEEOGATIYE SENTENCES. 

{Rising 5th) in thorough Interrogation used on every syllable. 
(a) t (00) th s s s ? 

,« I I ,1 I i I I 

a a 11 e or- 

1 I I « I J 1 I 

ve I a st I w h c t 

I (00)— t ue I 

i- I (n) 

I ^ .1 

^ J A I 

Br An 

Give Brutus a statue with his ancestors ? 



(Another form.') 

{e)^ {dy {rf {ey {ey (ey 

I 1 I W I I.I, 

He said (poy were \ pa— ra— ole ? 

u in (my 

you I 

com — 



PITCH. 97 

He said jou were incomparable ? 

_* -* _" (fy — * -* ('6)^ 

(i)3 (^)3 («)3 _4 (^)3 ^^y _4 (,,)* 

— « —2 —2 (m)^ —2 — '^ (e)^ — * 

Give^ (hy ius^ a^ — ' for^ his^ — '^ C«)' 

—* (e)^umph^ de^ — " 

Give Fabius a triumph for his delay ? 
Rising Octave. — Hath a 6Z(?^ money ? 
Paetial Ixtereogation. — 

Brother, good day ! what means this armed guard 

That waits upon your grace ? 



semitone and teemoe. 

Pit — y the rows ofa^-o-<?-r 

sor — o-l-d {d)- 



man. 



O ^BANquo, ^BANquo, 

Our Royal master's m-u-r-der'-d. 

DOWNWAED OCTAVE. 

So frown'd the mighty combatants that HETJi 
Grew darker at their frown. 



DOWNWAED FIFTH. 

{Concrete) used for emphasis, 

i 

ms, ^ I 

ee- mad — — -am, it g | 

S- nay 

Downward 5th on j Hence, horrible shadow, 
each syllable. ] Unreal mockery, hence. 
5 



98 VOICE AND ACTION. 

OCTAVES. 

ie)—h 

(.e) - 

— o 

(0 

Heigh (oo) ! 

DOWirwAED FIFTH. — (Discrete.) 

(grave surprise.) 

he' am' bi^ 

Bru' says' was' 

Yet' 

^tious.' 

^-tns' 

DOWNWARD THiED (Concrete.) 

bra' — 
but' the' None' the' — 

None' brave' ! but' ve' I 

No — ve' 

— but' — de' -serve' 

ne' the' bra' — the' 

fair. 



Another Example. — (Discrete.) 






(prepared cadence.) 


E' den' their' 


i'— ta — 


Through' sol'- 


ry 


Hool' 


waj.' 



(HigTier intervals seldom used.) 
Equal Wave of the Second. — (Used on an average^ in the 
loftiest description, on three syllables in ten. If used oftener 
drawling is the result.) 

a- 
ir o- which f- r 

H- gh on' a' thr- ne' of r- j sta'- 

o- al' te\ 

0- 

Out' sh- ne mus'and'of n- 

the' wealth- of 0- r— I- d, 

(er-) 



WAVES OF THE SECOND. 99 

e- 0- a- 

Or' whe- re g- r — geous' rich' — est' h- nd 

the' East' with' 

ea- 
o- i- bar' — ic' p- rl and' go'- 

Sh- w ers' on' her' K- ngs bar' — Id, 

alt' 

Sa' — ex' ed' 

sat.' 
tan' 

(Another example of the same.) 

c say' — ble' ke' he' gh', 

S- i' — a' no' stro'— lift' ed'hi- 

ng; 

with' t'- 
hu'— but' so' swift em' — pest' fell', 

"Which' ng not', 

(o) ou- 

O n pr- d Sa' no' ght,' 

the' crest' of tan,' that si'- 

tion' of thought', le'- 

Kor' mo' swift' ss' could' his' ie- 

sh- Id, 

^h^ 

Su' — u- in' in' 

r- (oo)— ter^ 

cept.' 

Some are not content with the heautiful simple melody of 
speech with an occasional wave or slide of the octai^e^ fifth and 
third ; but must continually deal out the higher intervals exclu- 
sively^ thus allowing no repose to the ear and producing a most 
disagreeable drawling^ and monotonous clelivery. 

Even in the loftiest and most imaginative styles of language, 
the simple rise emdfall of the voice greatly preponderates: and 
the other intervals are applied occasionally to syllables, and are 
thus diffused through sentences. 

Proper pausing is better than the immoderate use of the 
wave and slide. 



100 VOICE AND ACTIOK. 



Ea'p id. — Moderate. — Slow. 
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. 

123412121234 1 23 

a, a, a, a. e, e. i, i. o, o, o, o. u, u, u. oi, — ou. 

Even in quick time, seem to be rapid, but not so quick as to 
make the hearer lose what he would gladly remember. He 
then hears but forgets. Have the syllables abrupt^ but yet 
talce sufficient time in reading the words to be well understood. 
It requires great skill. 

Take the utmost pains to have each sound distinct. In 
slow time breathe deeply, make the sounds full and round, 
and if there is any tendency to drawling, it will disappear. 

QtriOK. 

Like adder darting from his coil. 
Like wolf that dashes through the toil. 
Like mountain-cat that guards her young, 
Full at Fitz James's throat he sprung. 

MODEEATE. 

There were light sounds of reveling. "With music I come 
from my balmy home. There is no breeze upon the lake. 
The waves bound beneath me as a steed that knows his rider. 
A vision of beauty appeared on the clouds. The bells he 
jingled, and the whistle blew. Labor is but refreshment from 
repose. 

SLOW TIME — (great QUANTITY). 

thou Eternal One, whose presence bright 

All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; 

Being above all beings, mighty One! 

Whom none can comprehend and none explore. 

Who fill'st existence with thyself alone ; 

Being whom we call God, and know no more. 



TIME — QUANTITY. 101 

PEAOTICE. 

1. As quick as possible. — Quick as the lightning's flash that 

illumines the night. 

2. Very quick. — Charge for the golden lilies, now, upon them 

with the lance. 
8. Quick. — Hurrah! the foes are moving. 

4. Kather Quick. — Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel 

a-wreck. 

5. Medium time. — What stronger breast-plate than a heart 

untainted. 

6. Eather slow — Slowly and sadly we laid him down. 

T. Slow. — The bell strikes one ! we take no note of time, but 
from its loss. 

8. Very slow. — Which like a wounded snake drags its slow 

length along, 

9. The slowest time. — Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy 

hour. 

Then with Aspiration, the Tremor, and the Semitone, Force 
and Pitch. 



a e. a e. a e. 

-e. a e. 

(a) 



'Row turn to some selection in the latter part of the book, 
and for practice, read first very slowly, then read the same 
piece in moderate time, and then just as fast as is possible to 
read and be distinct. 

The power of suspending the voice at pleasure, is one of 
the most useful attainments in the art of speaking. It enables 
the orator to pause as long as he chooses and still keep his 
hearers in expectation of what is to follow. When well done, 
the effects are wonderful. 

The speaker can take advantage of the pauses to inhale 
imperceptibly a copious supply of air, and collect his ideas. 

The pauses relieve the ear from the incessant flow of sound, 
and animate the meaning; they also divide and enforce the 
harmony of language. 



102 VOICE AND ACTION. 



EULES FOE PAUSING 



1. The nominative phrase. 

2. The objective phrase in an inverted sentence. 

3. The emphatic word or clause of force. 

4. Each member of a sentence. 

5. 'I he noun when followed by an adjective. 

6. Words in apposition. 



f 7. The infinitive mood. 

w 8. Prepositions (generally). 

^ J 9. Kelative Pronouns. 

§ I 10. Conjunctions. 

^ 11. Adverbs (geuerallv). 

[ 12. An Ellipsis. 

GENERAL EULE. 

Pause after every two or three words, and at the end of 
every line in poetry. Pauses are not breaks, they simply sus- 
pend the sense. They are short in rapid, long in slow reading. 

Examples. — The passions^ of mankind^ frequently^ blind 
them. 

With famine^ and death ^ the destroying angel came. 

He exhibits* now and then* remarkable genius. 

He was a man^ contented. 

The morn^ was clear ^^ the eve'^ was clouded. 

It is prudent" in every man'^ to make early provision 
^against the wants of age '° and the chances^ of accident. 

Nations^ ^ like men*^ faiP in nothing'' which they boldly 
attemi:)t^' when sustained*' by virtuous purpose^" and firm 
resolution. — ff. Clay. 

A people^2 Qnce enslaved^ may groan^- ages^ in bondage. 

Their diadems^- crowns^ of glory. 

They cried^ "Death^ to the traitors!" 

Note. — Never pause between the verh and its objective 
case, in a direct sentence, unless other words intervene. 

The Middle Pause. — So called because it most frequently 
occurs in the middle of a lentence. 

Example. — These^ are the men + to whom + + arrayed^ in 
all the terrors^ of Government + 1 would say+n-you shall not 
degrade us^ into brutes. — BuvTce. 



PAUSING. 103 

MAEOO BOZZAEIS. 

At midnight + in his guarded + tent, 
The Turk + lay + dreaming + of the hour+ 
"When Greece, her knee + in snpphance+hent, 
Should tremble + at his power ; 
In dreams, through camp + and court, he bore+ 
The trophies + of a conqueror ; 
In dreams, +his song+of triumph + heard; 
Then wore+his monarch's + signet-ring; 
Then pressed+that monarch's + throne— a king; 
As wild + his thoughts, and gay + of wing, 
As Eden's + garden bird. 

An hour+passed on, — the Turk + awoke; 

That briglitn- dream + was + his last ; 

He woke — to hear + his sentry's + shriek, 

" To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the GreeTc /" 

He woke — to die + midst flame + and smoke, 

And shout+and groan+and sabre-stroke, + 

And death-shots + falling+thick+and fast+ 

As lightnings + from + the mountain-cloud; 

And heard, with voice + as trumpet + loud, 

Bozzaris + cheer + his band : 
" Steike — till + the last + armed +foe + expires ; 
Steike— /<?r your altars + and your fires; 
Steike— /or the green -v graves + of your sires; 

God, — and your native + land P'^ 

They fought+like brave men, long+and well; 
They piled + that ground + with Moslem slain; 
They conquered, — but Bozzaris+fell, 

Bleeding + at every + vein. 
His few + surviving + comrades + saw + 
His smile, when rang + their proud + hurrah, 
And + the red field + was won; 
Then saw + in death + his eyelids + close + 
Calmly + as + to a night's + repose, 

Like flowers + at set + of sua. 



104 VOICE AND ACTION. 

EYTHMUS OF SPEECH. 

+ It IS I now I sir-teen or | se'den-ioia^ \ years \ + since I | 
saw the queen of | France, + ] then the j i)a^^-phi-ness, | + at 
Yer- I sallies: | + + 1 +and ] sure-\y \ nev-QV \ Ught-ed on this 
I ord^ I +vvlnch she | hard-\y \ seemed to | touchy + | +a | more 
de- I light-in] \ vis-ion. \ + + \ + + | + I ] saw her ] just a- | 
hove the ho- | r^-zot1, | + + 1 ^ec-o-rating and j cheer-ing \ 
+ the I e?-e-vat-ed | sphere | + she j just be- | gan to | move 
in : I + +1 glit-ter-iug \ + like the | morn-'mg \ star : 1 + + 1 
full of I life, + I + and | splen-dor, \ + and 1 joy. \ 

Oh I I what a | rev-o- \ lu-tion ! | + + | + and ] what a | 
heart + j must I | have, \ + to con- | ^gm-plate | + with- | 
out e- I mo-tion, \ that + | + el-e- [ -ya-tion | + and | 
that + j fall. I 

+ In the I sec-ond \ cent-n-rj \ + of the | Christ-mn \ 
e-TB, I + the I em-^\vQ of | Rome \ + com-pre- | hend-Qd the | 
fair-est \ part of the | earth + \ + and the | most + I civ- 
il-ized I por-tion \ + of man- | Jcind. 

EXPEESSION. — STYLES. 

Soft and Delicate. — The swan's sweetest song is the last lie 

sings. 
Brilliant., Sparhling. — Lnst cnme Joy's ecstatic trial. 
Fierce., Vehement. — Strike ! till the last armed foe expires. 
Spirited.— AgSiin. to the battle, Achaians ! 

QUALITY. TONES OF VOICE. 

5 NATFEAL, Or 

( PUEE. — (high.) 
Cheerfulness. — When cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. 
Joy. — ^Rejoice such tidings good to hear ! 
Pathos. — Ah! poor soldier! Oh! fond mother, you are sev- 

er'd now, for aye ! 
Love. — The loyal winds that loved it well. 
Solemnity. — (at times.) — There is a world where there falls no 

blight. 
Sorrow. — Kindred, friends ! and have I lost you all. 



EXPEESSIOlf. 105 

OEOTrND. 

Pathos. — And is this all that remains of Hamilton ? 
Solemnity. — Its solemn tones are ringing in my ear. 
Joy. — (when dignified.) — Earth with her thousand voices calls 
on God. 

FALSETTE. — (rarely used.) 
Terror. — Help ! help ! mercy, oh ! save me ! 

ASPIEATION. 

Wonder. — Sir Richard, what think you, have you beheld it? 
Amazement. — Gone to be friends? Thou hast mis-spoke, 

mis-heard! 
Excess of Anger. — Alive in triumph ? and Mercutio slain ? 
Retenge. — ^If he 'scape, Heaven forgive hira too I 
Fextr. — Angels and ministers of grace defend us! 

{Pure aspiration.) 
Terror. — I've done the deed — did'st thou not hear a noise ? 
Haste. — Haste me to know it, that I may swoop to my 

revenge. 
Remorse. — I am alone the villain of the earth, and feel I am 

so most. 
Despair. — Comb down his hair, look ! look ! it stands upright. 

GrTTIJEAL. 

Contempt. — Get thee gone, before I learn the worst. 
Malice. — How like a fawning publican he looks. 
Impatience. — He is my bane, I cannot bear hira. 
Rate. — When forth you walk, may the sun strike you with 

livid plagues. 
Loathing. — I loathe ye with my bosom, I scorn you with mine 

eye. 

GEOUPmG OF SPEECH A.1SJ) EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis, is the whole life of expression. Try the sup- 
posed word or words, and fill in other words until satisfied as 
to which are emphatic. 
5* 



106 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Examples of geouping with emphatic words. — Art thou 
that traitor angel, art thou he who first broke p-e-a-c-e — in 
heaven, SLJid f-ai-th — till then -WTibroken? 

Say first, for H-e-a-y-en, — hides nothing from thy view 
nor the deep tract of HELL. 

Having the wisdom to fore-s-ee — he took measures to pre- 
vent — the dis-as-ter. 

After he was so fortunate as to save himself fe-o-m — ho 
took es-pecial care, never to fall again into — the — polluted 

• — STEEAM — of — AMBITION. 

Blew an inspiring ai-r — that dale and thicket ru-ng — 
The hunter's c-a-ll^ — to Faun and Dryad known. 
Then wh-en — I am thy cap-tive—to^k of chains. 
For soon expect to feel 
His thun-dev on thy head, dQ-vour-ing fire, 
Then, who crQ-dted thee lamenting learn, 
"When who can un-cvQatQ thee thou shalt Mow, 

INCENTIVES TO DEVOTION. 

Lo ! the un-lett-ered (HIN'D), who never Jcnew 
To raise his mind ex-cursive to the hight 
Of abstract contem-plation, as he sits 
On the green MllocTc by the hedge-row side, 
What time the insect swarms are murmuring, 
And maeks, in silent thought, the beoken clouds, 
That fringe, with loveliest hue, tlie evening slcy, 
(FEELS) in his soul the HAND of natiiee eodsb 
The THEiLL of geatitude, to him who foemed 
The goodly peospect; he heholds the God 
Throned in the west : and his reposing ear 
Hears sounds angelic in the fitful hreeze 
That floats through neighboring copse or fairy Sray^e, 
Or lingers playful, on the haunted stream. 

******* 

And shall it e'er le said, that a poor (HIIsTD,) 

Nursed in the lap of ignorance, and bred 

In want and labor, (GLOWS) with noble zeal 



INTONATION. * 107 

To LAUD his Maker's atteibutes, while (HE) 
Whom starry science in her cradle rocked, 
(CLOSES) his eye upon the holy word, 
And, Mind to all hut arrogance ajidpridey 
(DARES) to declare his Ijstidelity, 
And o-p^N-LY CONTEMN the Lord of Hosts I 

Emphatic syllables diffuse the expression through entire 
sentences. See the following example : — 

Par-don me, thou dieed-ing piece of earth. 



INTONATION. 

Intonation is the act of sounding syllables, and resembles 
the strokes given to the notes of a piano by a performer. 
It is the vocalized body of the syllable. 

ODE ON AET. 

(Yoice suspended at the long dashes as if going on to the 
next word.) 

Wh-en, from the sa-cred gar-dm driven, 

Manr—Jl-ed be-fore his Ma-ker's wra-th, 

An angel — le-ft — hoiv place in heav-en, 

An-d crossed the wan-der-er's sun-less ^ai5^. 
'Twas — AET ! sweet aet ! new ra-di-ance broTce — 

Where — her — light— foot Jiew o'^er the ground: — 
And — thus — with ser-aph — voice she spoTce, — 

Th-e c-urse a — Mess-ing shall befou-nd. 

* Hs * 5{« H« * ♦ 

He — plu-cTcs the peae-ls — that stud the dee-p, — 

Ad-mir-ing beauty's lap to fi-ll : — 
He breads the stubborn mar-bWs sleep, — 

And mo-chs his own crea-tor''s sMll. 
"With THOUGHTS that swell his glowing sou-l^ — 

He BIDS the ore ill-ume the page, — 
And proud-ly scorn-ing Time's con-trol,-^ 

Com-mee-oes with an un-born a-ge. 



108 



VOICE AI^D ACTION. 



In fields of air he weites lais na-me, — 

And TREADS the daam-bers of the sky; 
He eea-ds the stars^ and grasps th.%fiam6 — 

That quivers round the throne on high. 
In wa-r — re-nowned^ m peace — sub-lime, — 

He mo-ves in great-ne&s and in gra-ce, — 
His pow-er sub-da-ing spa-ce and ti-me, — 

Links r-ea-lm to r-ea-lm, and race to race. 

Eemaek. — Some syllables are more capable than others of 
receiving what may be termed Expressive Intonation; but the 
degree and quality of this intonation is relative. It depends 
for its application entirely upon the style of the language in 
which such words may be used, whether grave or gay, lively 
or severe. 

Any one will see that if any of the few selected were given 
in serious discourse they would have more weight, fullness and 
character than in more simple language. The judgment must 
be on the alert, and carefully observe the relation of these and 
similar words to the rest of the language where they may 
occur. 



Pow-QviVil 


Large 


Broad 


Mass-\-vQ 


Sad-lj ' 


Ter-Yi\AQ 


P0S-\\ANQ> 


Sl0lD-\j 


Brill-mut 


Sub-Vime 


Beau-t\f\\\ 


7>as-zling 


Tig-QV 


Lord-lj 


In-uocent 


lf(?7i-strous 


Pret-\\\j 


Beast 


MeeMj 


ffor-rih\Q 


AnQ-rWj 


Joy-on^ 


Dove 


SparJc-]ing 


Glo-iious 


Grasp-mg 


Peev-i^h 


Ea gle 


Scorn-ful 


Burst-mg 


'Ener-get-iG 


Firm-lj 

ges 


Man 

rUEE. — POSI 


Aw-ful 

TION". 


Mag-we/*-icent 



Gesture is rather subordinate to vocnlity, but yet well- 
timed, discriminating movements add much vigor and ex- 
pression to the language. All gestures should be flowing, 
graceful; well out from the shoulders, not from the elbows. 
The arms should be lifted boldly, not mincingly. Do not 
push them out in angles, but lift tliern out in curves. 

Position. — Stand erect, shoulders thiown well back. 
Brace one foot firmly to the floor, the other only lightly 
touching. When standing in the ordinary position, have the 



ACTION — GESTURE. 109 

feet moderately apart, the foot in front at an angle of forty - 
five degrees from the otlier, at a distance of about four to six 
inches, sufficient to feel firm and solid. When walking on the 
stage do not mincingly bend the knees, nor stride ; but take 
the mean between thesy extremes, by gracefully lifting the 
lower limbs sideways, with the toes turned out. 

Tiie following six gestures are designed more particularly 
for pupils of classes personally taught by Mr. Frobisher ; the 
exercises after these for all persons. [Note. — Make the hands 
feel heavy while practising.] 

1st ExEEOiSE. — Arms out in front, horizontally, palms 
touching ; swing back and forth with firmness. 

2d ExEEOiSE. — ^Arms down at side; swing above the head 
and down again rapidly, a number of times. These exercises 
give firmness to the arms. 

1st Gestfee. — Hands curved naturally, and down by the 
side; out in front ; curving the arms, carry out to side; turn 
hands over and down to side. 

2d Gestuee. — Hands from sides across the body, fore- 
fingers touching ; raise hands and arms vertically ; turn 
palms of hands up; carry hands out; turn over; down to 
side. 

3d Gestuee. — Crook hands at sides ; push boldly out in 
front; lift hands and arms perpendicularly; let hands fall 
back; push forward; out to extreme; turn over; down to 
side. 

4th Gestuee. — Curve arms over to the breast like two 
circles ; turn the face to one side, hands to the other ; alter- 
nate the fiction a number of times. 

5th Gestuee. — Hands to sides, pointing downward ; raise 
out to shoulders ; arms and hands to top of the head, turning 
the backs of the hands to heal ; point out ; alternate in this 
way till the movement becomes easy. 

6th Gestuee. — Hands from side lifted out straight, level 
with the shoulders; palms down; hands brought in; right 
hand across the left; the left brought over the right; turn 
backs of the hands to the body, and push out boldly; turn 
the hands over ; hands down to the side. 

[Note. — Hands at side when not used in gesticulating.] 



110 VOICE AND ACTION. 

8d ExEECisE. — Hands and arms out horizontally to the 
shoulders; clinch the hands, projecting the thumbs; turn 
the thumbs under as far as possible ; rapidly twist the hands 
and arms. 

4th Exercise. — Hmds and arms up perpendicular from 
the sides, above the head ; clinch the hands, the thumbs pro- 
jecting ; twist the hands and arms rapidly. 

5th Exercise. — Manipulate the fingers and wrists to make 
them flexible and graceful in movement. (Perpendicular and 
horizontal, prone and supine, inward and outward.) 

exercises. 

a, e, i, o, u, oi, ou. Ba ! le ! hi ! do ! lu ! hoi / hou ! 1, 
2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. 

First Gesture. — "Friends, Eomans, countrymen." 

" EoU on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean ! " 

Second. — " Heaven ! " he cried, " my bleeding country 
save ! " 
=■ " All hail, thou lovely queen of night ! " 

Third.—'' Oh, forbid it, Heaven ! " 

" To tell thee how I hate thy beams, Sun I " 
Fourth. — " I scorn such an action." 

" I warn you, do not dare to pass it." 
Fifth. — "An honest man, my neighbor, there he stands." 

" 'T was you that took it." 
Sixth. — " He woke to die 'midst flame and smoke." 

"Eound me the smoke and shout of battle roll." 



Note.— Grief, Doubt, Shame and the darker emotions require a downward 
action and gesture, with the hands prone. Expressions of Joy, Hope and the 
lighter passions have an upward action, with the hands supine. Nearness of 
objects has a supine position of the hands ; distance of objects has a prone, 
somewhat elevated, horizontal direction of gesture. A reference to Liberty and 
expressions of triumph have a high, bold, sweeping style of action and gesture. 



ACnOX AXD GESTUEE. 



Ill 



ACTIOI^.-GESTURE. 



(feo:m: Austin's chieoxomia.) 



FINGERS. 

n. natural 

c. clinch'd (fist) 
X. extended 

i. index 

1. collected (to thumb) 

h. holding (object) 

w. hollowed up 

m. thumb up 

g. grasping 

PALM. 

p. prone 

6. supine 

n. inward (to body) 

o outward 

V. vertical 

f. forward 

b. backward 

AEMS. 

d. downward 
h. horizontal 

e. elevated 
z. zenith 

r. rest 

AEMS TEANSVEESE. 

c. across 

f. forward 
q. oblique 
X. extended 
b. backward 



MOTION. 

X. extreme 

c. contracted 
m. moderate 

DIEECTION. 

a. ascends 

d. descends 
r. right 

1. left 
f. forward 

b. backward 
V. revolve 

i. inward 
o. outward 

MANNEE. 

n. noting 
p. project 
w. wave 
fl. flourish 
sw. sweep 
bk. beckon 
rp. repress 
ad. advance 
sp. spring 
st. strike 
pr. press 
rt. retract 
rj. reject 
bn. bend 
re. recoil 
eh. shake 



th. throw 
cl. clinch 
11. collect 

FACE. 

I. incline 

E. erect 
As. assent 
Du. deny 
Sh. shake 
Ts. toss 

S. aside 

F. forward 
A. avert 
D. down 
U. up 

R. around 
V. vacancy 

FEET. 

(Below line.) 
R. 1. right 1st 
R. 2. right 2d 
L. 1. left 1st 
L. 2. left 2d 
R. r. right front 
L. F. left front 
K. kneeling 
S. aside 
X. extended 
m. X. moderate 
X. X. extreme 
C. contracted. 



112 



VOICE AND ACTION. 



STEPS. 


FINGEES OF BOTH 


MARGINAL. 


a. advance 


HANDS. 


Ap. appealing 


r. retire 


ap. applied 


At. attention 


tr. traverse 


Ip. cLisped 


Yn. veneration 


c. across 


cr. crossed 


Ls. listening 


s. start 


Id. folded 


Lm. lamenting 


sp. stamp 


in. inclosed 


Dp. deprecating 


sh. shock 


wr. wrung 


Pr. pride 




tc. touching 


Sh. shame 


HANDS. 


nu. enumerate. 


Av. aversion 


(placed.) 




0. commanding 


E, eyes 


BOTH AEMS. 


Ad. admiration 


K nose 


en. encumbered 


Hr. horror 


L. lips 


pd. reposed 


Gr. grief 


F. forehead 


km. akimbo 


Fr. fear 


0. chin 


B. both (precedes) 


En. encouraging 


br. breast 




&c., &c., &c. 



POSITIONS OF THE FEET. 

R. 1. — The Right foot is m fronts icith the leg slightly hent 
at the Tcnee^ while the body rests mainly on the left. 

E. 2. — The Right foot is advanced still further forward ; 
all the weight of the body is brought on it, while the left 
slightly touches the floor, only on one side of it, in the rear of 
the other. 

L. 1. and L. 2. are simply changes of the feet, using the left 
instead of the right. They are merely reverse positions. 



EXPLANATIONS OF THE MOST DIFFICULT. 



Fingers. — Extended — Widely parted from each other. 
Aems. — Wave — Tiae hand is waved out from the opposite 
shoulder, across the body, and outstretched to th^full 
length of the arm. 

Flourish — Is similar to the motion made around the 
head when one is hurrahing. 

Sweep — Is similar to the wave, except the motion 
is carried down toward the knee to full extent, and 
swept out high in the air, far from the body. 



NOTATION OF GESTUEE. 113 

Repressing — Is lifting up the hand above shoulder 

and then poshing palm downward toward the earth. 
Striking — Is similar to repressing, except the latter 

lias a percussive, while the former has a steady 

motion. 
AeMs Kepose — Is simplj one lying above the other without 

entwining. 
Recoiling — After the stroke the hand returns. 
Speing — Complete the action with a spring. 
Theowing — Throwing the gesture. 



First set is for the Eight hand and arm. Second is for the 
Left, preceded by a dash when it follows the first. A long 
dash denotes change of gesture at the letter. Small dots mean 
to change hands, but not to drop except at periods. Capital let- 
ters at the commencement denote posture of the head and eyes. 
Letters below the line indicate a change of the feet at the 
word. 

EXEBOISES. 

(The Gestures in these may seem too numerous. They are 
intended merely for practice.) 

SATAN TO HIS LEGIONS. 

veq — phx B veq 
Princes, potentates, 
B sdq B veq a vdq — vdo 

"Warriors, the flower of heaven ! once yours, now lost, 

E.I. 
B sdq veq — plix 

If such astonishment as this can seize 

R2 

ehf— sdx B sdf 

Eternal spirits ; or have ye chosen this place, 

B phf 

After the toil of battle, to repose, 

q 

Your wearied virtue for the ease you find 

eeq — shx 

To slumber here, as in the vales of heav'n? 

R 1 

vdc— vdq veq— phx 

Or in this abject posture have you sworn 

rLl L2 



114 VOICE AND ACTION. 

B veq 

T' adore the Conqueror ? who now beholds 

aR2 

vhc sw— phx 

Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood, 
R 1 

B vec B pitx 

With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon 

112 

B seq B veq 

His swift pursuers from heavVs gates discern 

Rl R2 

Bsdq 

Th' advantage, and descending, tread us down, 

ceq— cdx 

Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts 

cdf — cdb 

Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf ? 

veq— phx B veq B sdq B R 

Awake, arise, or be forever fall'n I 
Rl 



GEAY S ELEGY. 
Ls veq vhx a Bpef d 

The curfew tolls — the knell of parting day 1 

aR2 
F phf ..... q X 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; 

rRl 

. . . — phf q Bveq 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 

V Bnef d BR 

And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 



R Bphc 



Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 



Bvef- 



And all the air a solemn stillness holds. 



— q 



Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 

vef rt phf p R 

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: 

aR2 



— leq n 

Save that from yonder ivv-mantled tower 
Rl 



ACTION AND GESTURE. 115 

— veq U — seb 

The mopinff owl does to the moon complain 

rL 1 
— shq 

Of such as, Trandering near her secret hower, 

—veq p 

Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 

ehf n — shf n 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, 

B bdf a vhf 

"Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, 

D a — B nef sp 

Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 

F B phf d BR. 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

shf veq -w 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

rRl 



leq- 



The swallow, twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, 

idq veq w 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

-Bnefsp Bsdfd 



No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

aR2 

shf 
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
rRl 

vhf 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care, 

Bshf p 

Nor children run to lisp their sire's return, 

aR2 
Bnefa D F Bshfn 

Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. 



rRl 



phc- 



0ft did the harvest to their sickle yield ; 

sdf St 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 

sec sw .phq sp 

How jocund did they drive their team afield! 

ceb bn chfst 

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke I 



116 VOICE AND ACTION. 

ief ihf n 

Let not ambition mock tlieir useful toil, 

rLl 

pef: pdf d 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

oeo q rj 

l^or grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 

rRl 

a vef d R 



The short and simple annals of the poor. 

vef ep ief fl 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, 

aE,2 
Bshf p q 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Bvhq sh 

Await, alike the inevitable hour — 

rRl 
-vef^ a d Bdq n R 



The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

aR2 



B phc q a shfn 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
rLl 

veq vr 

If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

L2 



vhf p 



"Where, thro' the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault, 

a B nef- —a d B R 

The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

ihf — vhq n 

Can storied urn, or animated bust, 

rRl 
-BL tc oq 



Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ' 



a veq d sdf R 

Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 

aR2 
Bshfsh a vef ^vdfp 

Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death ? 



idf- 



Perhaps in this neglected spot, is laid 
rRl 

br R veq w 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 



ACTION AND GESTUEE. 117 

B r.ef B shf st 

Hauds that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 

pec sw veq sw 

Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. 

shf d q 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 

phc- 



Eich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 

B vhf rt rp q 

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, 

B vhq c ^ B nhf p B br 

And froze the genial current of the soul. 

ihf 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

a B pdf d q 

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean hear; 

all2 

shq — p 

Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, 

phc- 



And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 



vef br R 

Some village Harnpden that, with dauntless breast, 

rLl 
ihf veq -w 

The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 

a B nef d B sdf 

Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest ; 

aE,2 
B vhf rt p A B vhc x 



Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 

rRl 



B shf p- 



The applause of listening senates to command, 

phf p a a vef— rj 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

B phc q B vhx ep 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 



Bshc- 



And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

phf St R phc- 



Their lot forbade — nor circumscrib'd alone 

X Bvhfrt 

Their growing virtues ; but their crimes confin'd, 



118 VOICE AND ACTION. 

B bdf ad vhf eb 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 

B vhf p a d— B R 

And shut the gates of mercy on mankind. 

THE MISEE AND PLUTIJ3. 
R B vhf r q peqn— pdq 

The wind was high — the window shakes ; 

a R2 
veqc— vhx c 

"With sudden start the miser wakes I 

s B Ix 
F pdc ad ^phq 

Along the silent room he stalks ; 

aE,2 
B vhx— vhqc Bvhftr 

Looks back, and trembles as he walks I 

sRlx 
vhq— — vhx 

Each lock, and ev'rj bolt he tries, 

a L2 

shq o — . . — she i 

In ev'rj creek, and corner, pries ; 

aR2 



B pdq- 



Then opes his chest with treasure stor'd, 

D B seq 

And stands in rapture o'er his hoard ; 

R2 

Bvhfc 

But now with sudden qualms possest, 

rRl 

Id hf a ^Idbr 

He wrings his hands ; he beats his breast — 

g br— — veq 

By conscience stung he wildly stares ; 

B shf sh 

And thus his guilty soul declares ; 

B sdf d n 

Had the deep earth her stores confin'd, 

aR2 
br R 

This heart had known sweet peace of mind ; 
R 1 

vhf— vbx U Bsef sp a 

But virtue's sold ! Good Gods what price 

aR 2 
F R 

Can recompense the pangs of vice? 



ACTION AXD GESTURE. 119 



Bsdfd- 



O bane of good ! seducing cheat ! 

rRl 

B vhf vef shf st— sdq 

Can man, weak man, thy power defeat ? 

eeb 8W — sdq 

Gold banish'd honour from the mind, 

rLl 

br R 

And only left the name behmd ; 

B phc X 

Gold sow'd the world with every ill ; 

ceb eh cdq 

Gold taught the murd'rer's sword to kill : 
Llx 

Shf sh— sdq 

'Twas gold instructed coward hearts 

all2x 
B vhf rj 

In treach'ry's more pernicious arts. 

rBl 

seq— sdq 

"Who can recount the mischiefs o'er ? 

R2 

Bpdf d 
Virtue resides on earth no more ! 



BEUTUS ON THE DEATH OF O^SAR. 
B shf p q '■ vex sp B nef B slif st 

Eomans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause ; 

aR2 rRl 

pef— phx phfst R- Bshfp 

and be silent that you may hear. Believe me for mine 

aR2 
br R br pr veq sp B shf n 

honour; and have respect unto mine honour that you may 

D B pef B nhx B vef sp 

believe. Censure me in your wisdom; and awake your senses 

rRl 

B shf n B she x ■ • 

that you may the better judge. If there be any in this as- 



— sdf d vef sp br R 

sembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' 

a R2 rRl 

shf st ief 

love to CdBsar, was no less than his. If, then, that friend de- 

n veq B shf p q 

mand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer : not 



120 VOICE AND ACTION. 

nef sM st B veq w 

that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had 

shf p peq sp phf st 

you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that 

rLl 

B shf st B nhx sef 

Caesar were dead, and live all freemen ? As Caesar loved me, 

all2 
E— R veq w br 

I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he 

rLl 

veq — vliq B sdf d cef chf sf 

was valiant, I honour him ; but, as he was ambitious, I slew 

L2 a 112 

D B nef 8hf d U br E, veq w D B pef 

him. There are tears for his love, joj for his fortune, honour 

rRl 

B veq sp ceb chf sh BR shf p 

for his valor, and death for his ambition. "Who's here so base 

rLl a B,2 

ohc X rj pef pdf st ihf re 

that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for him have I 

R phc X 

offended. "Who's here so rude that would not be a Roman? 

rRl 

shf n vef sp 

If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who's here so 

Bvhfp Bveqw B shf n A 

vile that will not love his country ? If any, speak : for 

rLl 

B vhf sh BR veq w 

him have I offended. I pause for a reply. None ! Then 

sbc sw shf n 

none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar, 

aR2 

nef br ^R a ihfn 

than you shoulcl do to Brutus. The question of his death 

rLl 



-ieb n phf d- 



is enrolled in the Cax'itol ; his glory not extenuated where- 



~q ihf vef sp 



in he was worthy; nor his offences enforced, for which 



a ■ — phf st B ihb . . . she F she shb 

he suffered death. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark 

rRl 

n shf R 

Antony, who, though he had no hand in his death, shall re- 



ACTION AND GESTUEE. 121 

nef shfii 

ceive tlie benefit of his dying, — a place in the commonwealth ; 

B she q X B ncf B R 

as which of you shall not. With this, I depart: that, as I 

a B, 2 r B 1 

cef B sM n 

slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same 

rLl 

chfsli br st B a B pef d— 

dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need 

rBl 
BBst 



my death. 

FEOM TOTTNG's night THOUGHTS. 
TJ vefn F B nef 

The bell strikes one. We take no note of time 

aB2 rBl 

B shf st TJ ief 

But from its loss : to give it then a tongue 

sM n V B phq. 

Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 

TJ br B ihf 

1 feel the solemn sound. If heard aright 

ief -idq B st 

It is the knell of my departed hours. 

B B vhc q rt B vhf p 

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. 

V ieq pM st 

It is the signal that demands despatch : 



Bphfx Bvhq- 



How much is to be done ! My hopes, and fears 



Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge 

all2 



B phf st B nef sp- 



Look down — on what? A fathomless abyss, 

rBl 



-B vef p a B B st 



A dread eternity ! how surely mine, 

Tcf br . . . 

And can eternity belong to me, 

... .—vef B nef — B R 

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? 

TJ nefc' F shfst A ohc— vM c F B veqw 

How poor, how rich, how abjectj how august, 
6 



122 VOICE AND ACTION". 



JB vhc- 



How complicate, how wonderful is man! 

U a B vef sp d B R 

How passing wonder He who made him such ! 

B tc br B nhx sp 

"Who center'd in our make such strange extremes I 

B vhc q 

From different natures, marvellously mix'd, 



B nef rt pef p q 

Connexion exquisite of distant worlds! 

shf p ' — a -nef sp 

Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain! 

idf n iZ 

Midway from nothing to the Deity ! 

U shf vhf vef 

A beam ethereal, sullied, and absorpt ! 

a — pM St a vef sp— vhx 

Though sullied, and dishonored, still divine I 

vMc U veq "sv 

Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! 

B nef d B sdf n 

An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! 

r B phf U B veq sp D idf U veq w 

Helpless immortal I insect infinite ! 

idf n U vef sp B shf sh 

A worm I a God ! I tremble at myself, 

Y B hr vef br 

And in myself am lost. At home, a stranger, 

U P st — R Y vef sp — . . . — vhx sp 

Thought wanders up and down, surpris'd, aghast, 

Y B vhf sh B vec x 

And wond'ring at her own. How reason reels ! 

vefc phfn hr E, 

O what a miracle to man is man, 

B vef w B R vef sp vhf sh 

Triumphantly distress'd! what joy ! what dread! 

Bshfp Bvhfrt 

Alternately transported, and alarm'd ! 

rRl 
B br B vhc x 

"What can preserve my life ? or what destroy ? 



a — ^nef sp d pdf n 

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave, 

Bveq-w B nef Bsdfst 

Legions of angels can't confine me there. 



r Trnnquillitj 
Cheerfulness 
-I Mirth 
I Delio'ht 
I Joy- 



TLove 
J Desire 

L Grief J 

( Sadness {silent) 

\ Melancholy {settled) 



•Pity 



THE PAssioi;rs. 



Hope 

Confidence {success of hope) 

Courage 

Boasting {exaggerated courage) 

Pride — Obstinacy {dogged sourness) 

Contempt 

Scorn or Derision 



Hatred 

Aversion 

Sorrow 



Pear ^ 

r Terror 
Surprise ) 
"Wonder 

Admiration {approving) 
f Anger — fPeevislmes^^ {little) 
< Page Envy {moderate) 

( Pury -| Malice {continued) 
Eeproach {settled) 
I Eevenge {open) 



Remorse 
Complaining 

C Perplexity 
< Irresolution 
( Anxiety 



Vexation 



C Sorrow 
{ Despair < Ho{)es 
I Distraction ( Fears 

C Fatigue 

< Fainting 

( Death {ends all) 



1. Love 

2. Fear 

8. Suspicion 

4. Hatred 

5. Hope 

6. Sbg,me {sentiment) 

7. Anxiety 



JEALOUSY. 

8. Grief 

9. Envy 

10. Pride 

11. Rage 

12. Revenge 

13. Despair 

14. Distraction 

15. Madness and Death 



124 



VOICE AND ACTION. 



SENTIMENTS. 



Eaillerj, Sneering, Modesty, Submission, Shame, Authority, 
Gravity, Inquiry, Teaching, Arguing, Admonition, Command- 
ing, Forbidding, Denying. Affirming, Differing, Agreeing, 
Judging, Eeproving, Acquitting, Condemning, Pardoning, Dis- 
missing, Eefusing, Giving, Granting, Promising, Gratitude, 
Curiosity, Eespect, Exhorting, Commendation, Sickness, Per- 
suading, Tempting, Affectation, Sloth, Intoxication, Dotage, 
Folly, &o., &c. 



1 . TEANQUILLIT Y. 



Body — composed. 
Face — open. 
Forehead — smooth. 



Eyebrows — arched. 
Mouth — nearly sliut. 
Eyes — pass easily about. 



-OHEEEFULNESS. 



(Adds a smile to tranquillity.) 
Body — moves slightly. | Voice — pure, high. 



Head — thrown back. 
Mouth — open. 
CJieeTcs — hi^h, dimple. 
A^<?«^n7s— drawn up. 



(See Collins' Ode.) 



3. — MIETH. 



Ey.es — nearly closed, tears 

flow, tv^dnkle. 
Features — flushed. 
Body — convulsed, hold sides, 

shake. 



4. — DELIGHT — JOT. 



Face — open, smiles, glows. 

Voice — pure, liigh. 

Brows — raised. 

Eyes — heavenward, full, live- 
ly, brisk, quick, glancing, 
clear. 

Voice — quick, sweet, clear. 



{When Violent^ 

ITostrils — expanded. 

^awcfe— clapped, waved. 

Body — springs exultingly. 

{Extreme) — transport, semi- 
delirious, rapture, ecstacy, 
folly, eyes strained to almost 
wildness, sorrow, nearly 
madness. 



THE PASSIONS. 



125 



Face — serene, smiles. 
Mouth — little open. 
Eyes — languisli, half shut. 
Body — all tenderness. 



5. LOTE. 

Hands — entreating, clasp to 
breast, declare ; right hand 
to heart. 
Forehead — smooth, enlarged. 
Brows — arched. 
F6»*ce— pure, high, melting. 
EemarJcs. — Longs to be agreeable ; respectful, fears, dotes ; 
delicate complaining, tender reproach, reverent rapture ; eager, 
joyous, hesitating, confused, reposing, winning, soft, persuasive, 
flattering, pathetic; if unsuccessful, anxiety and melancholy. 

(See Romeo and Juliet, ShaJcs.) 



6. — DESIEE. 



Body — forward. 
Legs — advance. 
Arms — out to grasp. 
Face — smiling. 



Broics — raised. 
Mouth — open. 

Voice — lively, pure, suppliant, 
high. 



EemarTcs. — Eager, wistful, fluent, copious, (except sighs in 
distress.) 



Y. — GEIEF OE SOEEOW. 



{Excessive.') 

Face — deadly pale. 

Countenance — distorted. 

(agony.) 
Voice — loud, complaining, 

even shrieks. 
Hands — wrung, beat head and 



Countenance — dejected. 

Head — Hung down. 

Lips — swelled, quiver. 

Fyes — down. 

Arms — loose, sometimes little 
raised, suddenly fall. 

Hands — open, sometimes clas- 
ped, wrung. 

Fingers — spread. 

Voice — pure, high, or low, 
plaintive, long sighs, weeps, 
sometimes scarcely breathe, 
interrupted. 
Eemarlcs. — Throws itself upon the ground and seems to bor 

der on phrensy ; high pitch ; silence ; abrupt extremes ; paroX' 

ysm, suffocation. 



126 



VOICE AND ACTION. 



8. — SADNESS AND MELANCHOLY. 



Lower Jaw — ^falls. 



1 EemarTc. — habitual preying. 



9. — PITT. 



Voice — compassionate, tender. 
Countenance— di^ in pain. 
Mouth — open. 

Eyes — raise and fall mourn- 
inglj. 



Sands — raise and fall. 
BroiDS — drawn down, 
tracted. 

Features — togetl;er. 



con- 



RemarTis. — Love for the object, grief for its sufferings. 



10. HOPE, 

Countenance — up, bright, joy- 
ous. 
Mouth — dimples into smiles. 
Arms — spread. 
Sands — open as if to clasp. 
Eyes — bright, eager, wistful. 
EemarTc. — Desire and Joy. 



Body — bent forward. 

Sead — raised. 

Voice — plaintive, inclines to 

eagerness. 
Breath — strongly drawn in 

earnest anticipation. 



11. — COUEAGE— OONPIDENCE. 



Legs — firm, advance. 
Sead — erect. 
Breast— ^Yo] ected . 
Lungs — inflated. 
Sand — sometimes out. 
Sostrils — wide. 
Countenance — open, clear. 



Voice — firm, even, strong, 
clear, sonorous, full, bold; 
accents round, sometimes 
percussive in expression. 

Body—gvBiQ,QiVi\ noble in 
mien. 



12. — BOASTING. 

Face — red. 
Mouth — pouts. 
Eyes — stare. 

Voice — bombastic, holloWj 
loud. 



Arms — akimbo. 
Fists — menace. 
Feet — stamp. 
Legs — stride. 
Sead — back, (pride.) 
Brows — down. 

i?emary^s.— Exaggerated, blustering courage.— See Falstaff 
in Shaks. Hen. lY. 



a:n"a.ltsis of the passions. 



127 



13. PEIDE. 

Head — back, pompous. 
Eyes — full, lofty, (anger.) 
^roM5S— (considerably) down. 
Hands — on hips. 
Elbo IDS — forward. 



(self-esteem.) 

Mouth — pouting. 
Li-ps — contracted. 
Legs — distant, stately stride. 
Voice — slow, stiff, bombastic, 
important, with affectation. 



14. — DOGGED SULLEXNESS. 

Obstinacy, contempt, scorn, disdain. (Yery similar to pride.) 

15. HATEED, 



^o^Z^/— drawn back to avoid. 
Face — turned away. 
Eyes — angry, frown. 
j6rot(7s -- contracted. 
Teeth — set. 

Hands — spread out to keep 
off. 



Lijjs — upper drawn up in dis- 
dain. 

Yoice — guttural, low, loud, 
harsh, unequal, chiding, 
surly, vehement, sentences 
short, abrupt, percussive. 



EemarJc. — Aversion — similar to Hatred. 



16.— FEAE, TEEEOE, 

Brows — cold sweat ; high. 
Eyes — wide, fixed, wildly 

searching. 
Mouth —wide. 
LiiJS — convulsive. 
Nose — shortened. 
CheeTc — with tremor. 
Face — wild, deadly pale. 
Throat — gulping and catching. 
Body — shrinks, trembles to 

fly. 
Elhows~aX sides. 
Hands — open, lifted. 
.Fm^ers— spread up to breast 

to shield. 



OOK^STEENATION. 

Limts — strained with anguish. 

Feet — one back to start. 

N'eclc — active. 

Sho u Iders — m o ving. 

Ghest — ele vated. 

Heart — beats violently. 

Breast — with spasms. 

Steps — furtive. 

Breath — quick, short, impe- 
ded, gasping. 

Voice — feeble, husky, aspira- 
ted, explosive, tremulous. 



BemarTcs. — Fear with surprise, sentences short, incoherent. 



128 



VOICE AND ACTION. 



17. — -VVOKDEE, SUEPEISE, AMAZEMENT. 

(Uncommon object suddenly seen.) 



Eyes — open, prominent. 
Mouth — open. 

' — fixed, contracted, 
stooping. 



Hands — lifted as in Fear ; if 
hold anything, let drop un- 
consciously. 

Voice — first low, but energetic 
on each word : sometimes 
aspirated. 



18. — ADMIKATION. 

Mouth — open. Eyes — raised. 

Tongue — seen. Face — smiles. 

Teet% — lower edge seen. Hands — lifted or clapped ; ex- 

^ro«o— expanded, gently tended. 

raised. J Voice — rapturous. 

RemarTcs. — Sight enjoyed to utmost, all else forgotten ; de- 
sire of excellence ; if object come slowly and gently, (appro- 
bation and wonder.) 

1 9. — EEMOESE. — (Painful Remembrance?) 
Countenance — cast down, clouded by anxiety, pale, turgid. 
Head — ^hung down, shaken with regret. 
Nostrils — inflated to utmost. 
Brow — furrowed, knit. 
Eyes—yA^\^ raised as if to look up, suddenly down on ground ; 

unsteady; eye-balls strained, large; sometimes tears. 
Voice — sighs ; low, harsh,(Hatred,) reproachful; (excess,) strong, 

through teeth as in inward pain, aspirated. 

Hair — rises in the anguish 
of feeling. 

jSotZ?/— writhes as if with self 
aversion ; every joint seems 
to curse; knees sometimes 
bent, humble. 



Teeth. — gnashed. 

Li'ps — swell. 

Mouth — opens at the corners, 

tremblingly. 
Hands — The right beats the 

breast. 



20. — Vexation. — {Perplexity, Complaint, Fretting, Remorse.) 



ANALYSIS OF THE PASSION'S. 



129 



21. PERPLEXITY. 



Body — collected as for thought- 
ful consideration. 
Arms — on breast. 
Hands — (at times) to eyes. 



Head — upon breast. 
Eyes — down. 
Lips — pursed together. 
Mouth — shut. 



Kemaeks. — Quick, slow ; pauses long ; broken, uneven, stbd- 
denly altered, new discovery ; then contemplating; restless; 
walks about, talks to self, keeps half, expresses half. 



22. ANGEE. 



Head — strain ed. 

Eyes— hMrn. 

Teeth — gnash. 

Brows — w rinkled. 

Nose — large, heaves. 

Mouth — open ( towards the 

ears.) 
Muscles — strained. 
Veins — swollen. 



ITeck — stretched. 

Head — forward. 

Fists — clinched. 

Feet — stamp. 

Body — violent agitation. 

Voice — strong, high, loud; (un- 
common) low ; (excess) as- 
piration ; (violent) percus- 
sive. 



Kemaeks.— Sadden hatred, injury. 

23. — Eage and Fuet — Anger vert high, extinguishing 
humanity. 

24.— Envy. — (Moderate Anger), Peevishness (little), Ee- 
PEOAOH (settled), Eevenge (open). 

25. — EEPEOACH. 

Body — Aversion. I Voice — ^low. 

Head Shaken, abhorringly. 

Eemaeks. — Casting censures in one's teeth 



26.— Eevenge. — Like Malice, Eemoese (more open) to 
injure, triumph; loud, exulting. 
6* 



130 



yOICE AND ACTION. 



27. — MALICE. — (Spite.) 



strained to 



Elbows — ^bent, 

body. 
Voice — lower than anger. 



Jaws — set. 

Teeth— gn&sh, 

Fists — clinched. 

Eyes — flash, blast. 

Mouth — stretched horizontal 

ly. 

Kemaeks. — Watching to return injury. 

28. — Despaie — Sorrow tossed by Hope and Fear (settled); 

lo.-s of all hope. 

Forehead — clouded. 

Fyes — roll frightfully, some- 
times fixed ; see nothing ; 
insensible. 

Body — violently strained, agi- 
tated. 

Brows — down. 

Mouth — open, horizontally. 

Lips — bite them. 

J^ose — widens. 

Teeth — gnash. 



Voice — groans ; inward tor- 
ture ; words few, sullen, 
bitter, (sometimes and often 
loud,) furious, in same note, 
{excess^) aspirated. 

Elbows — bent (at times). 

Fists — clinched. 

Muscles — swell ed . 

Veins — swelled. 

Shin — livid. 



Eemarks.— Too frightful to dwell on. Terrible warning ; 
(grand, terrific, not mean.) 

29. — DISTEACTION"— MADNESS. 



Features — distorted, sharp. 

Teeth — gnash, or set. 

SMn — bound. 

Mouth — foams, changes. 

Lips — sometimes tight, then 
relaxed into an unmeaning 
smile ; unharmonions ex- 
pression of all the features. 



Eyes — open frightfully, roll 
hastily, wildly about; glar- 
ing. 

Body — violently strained, rolls 
in the dust. 

Muscles — Strong, rigid. 

Voice — hideous ; bellows, exe- 
crates; fierce, outrageous. 



Eemaeks. — No mental agony; utter wreck 
ously on all, tears and destroys itself. 



rushes furi- 



ANALYSIS OF THE PASSIONS. 



131 



30. 
Body — languid, stoops. 
Countenance — dejected. 
Arms — listless. 

Legs — dragged lieavilj, seem 
to bend. 



FATiaUE. 

Voice — weak; hardly articu- 
late to understand. 



31. — FAINTING. 



Body — suddenly relaxed, un 

strung in all ])arrs, drops. | 
Face — color flies from cheek. 
Remarks. — Helpless, senseless. 



Eyes — grow dim, roll up (as 
insensible). 



32. — DEATH. — {Ends all.) 
Eemaeks. — Similar to fainting. — " To die — must feel its 
awful shadow." 

33. — yexeratio:^. 



B^ead — ^little raised, most ap- 
rently timid, dread. 

Eyes — lifted, cast down again, 
closed. 

Body — profound gravity, com- 
posed, one posture. 

Knees — bending forward. 

Mands — open. 



Voice — Submissive, timid, 
equable, with tremor, weak, 
supplicating ; visible anxi- 
ety ; humble, diffident, hesi- 
tating. 

Brows — down respectfully. 

Arms — out, up to breast. 

Countenance — cheerful. 



34. — ^jealousy. 

Love^ Hate^ Hope^ Fear {Shame), Anxiety, Crief, Suspicion, 
Pity, Envy, Pride, Page, Cruelty, Pevenge, Pemorse, Despair., 
Distraction^ Madness, Death {all the Passions). 

Eyes — Bloody, rolling, glare 
at times, or darting, furious. 

Mouth — tense, lips retract. 

Arms — folded at times. 

BroiDS — knit. 

Voice — piteous at times, or 
roaring. 



Countenance — lighted, cloud- 
ed, composed, &c., &c. 

Fists — clinched, at times. 

Eyelids — lifted so as to almost 
disappear. 

Body — hurrying, at times, or 
quiet; restless, &c. 

Teeth — show. 



1^2 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Eemarks. — Great misery, terrible passion, reflects on lier 
charms, then her deception, destroys both her and himself. 
[See Shaks. Othello.'] 

Eemark. — Envy is sometimes considered small Jealousy. 

EXAMPLES. 

3. Mirth. — [See ShaTcspeare's Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet.] 

" A fool, a fool I met a fool i' the forest. 
A motley fool, a miserable varlet ; 
As I do live by food I met a fool, 
Who laid him down and dashed in the sun." 



4. Joy. (Inexpressible madness.) [See Borneo and Juliet^ wnd 
Othello.] ^ 

" Imoinda, oh ! this separation 
Has made you dearer, if it can be so, 
Than you were ever to me ! You appear 
Like a kind star to my benighted steps, 
To guide me on to happiness.'''' 



4. {Approaching transports.) 

" Oh ! Joy, thou welcome stranger, twice three years, 
I have not felt thy vital beam, but now 
It warms my veins, and plays about my heart; 
A fiery instinct lifts me from the ground. 
And I could mount to the very stars with rapture." 

5. LOVE. — {Eoraeo and Juliet). 

Rom. "With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; 
For stony limits cannot hold love out : 
And what love can do, that dares love attempt, 
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me." 

Jul, " If they do see thee, they will murder thee." 



EXAMPLES OF THE PASSIONS. 133 

Rom. *' Alack ! there lies more peril in thine eye, 

Than twenty of their swords ; look thou but sweet, 
And I am proof against their enmity." 

9. PITY. 

" Oh, rose of May, — 
Dear maid, hind sister^ sweet Ophelia!" 

17 ^ .^^ r. ^^5 (settled) — MELANCHOLY. 
r.-GEIEF, SOEROW. | lsiient)Ls^j,^r^,s. 

Seems, madam, nay it is ; I know not seems. 

'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 

Nor customary suits of solemn black, 

ISTor windy su-pir;ition of forced breath, 

No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 

Together with all modes, forms, shows of grief, 

That can denote me truly. 

(Approaching distraction.) 
Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel; 
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love. 
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, 
Doating like me, and like me banished. 
Then thou mightst tear thy hair, * * 
And fall upon the ground as I do now. 
(Manly. ) 
O now forever, 
Farewell the tranquil mind ; farewell content, 
FareweU the plumed troop and the big war, 
That make ambition virtue ! O farewell. 
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
The r.iyal banner, and all quality. 
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! 
Farewell 1 Othello's occupation's gone. 

10. HOPE. 

If 1 may trust the flattery of sleep, 

My dreams presage some joyful news at hand; 



134 YOICE AND ACTION. 

My bosom's lord sits liglitlj on his throne ; 

And, all this day, an unaccustomed spirit 

Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. 

11. — OOUEAGE. 

Now, my brave lads — now we are free indeed ; 

I have a whole host in this single arm. 

Death or liberty ! we shall not leave a man of them alive. 

12. BOASTING. 

Perhaps you flatter yourselves with an honorable death, 
that you'll fight like men, and die like heroes — you think so 
because you have seen Mooe exult amid scenes of carnage and 
horror — Oh, never dream it — there's none of you a Moor. 

13. PRIDE. 

I shall now talk with some pride. Go tell your august 
magistrate — he that throws the dice on life and death — tell 
him, I am none of those banditti who are in compact with 
sleep and the midnight hour — I scale no walls in the dark, 
and force no locks to plunder. 

15. — HATRED — (aversion.) 
{Sudden.) 

The faries curse you then ; 

"When forth you walk, may the red, flaming sun 

Strike you with livid plagues ! 

Vipers that die not, slowly gnaw your heart; 

May mankind shun you ; may you hate yourself, 

Pray for death hourly yet be million of years 

In expiring. 

I tell thee I ne'er received a blovr from mortal man 
But I did pay it back with interest. 



EXAMPLES OF THE PASSIONS. 135 

Oh ! that we were on the dark wave together, 
"With but one plank between us and destruction, 
That I might grasp him in these desperate arms, 
And plunge with him amid the weltering billows 
And view him ga'^p for life. 

16. FEAPw — TEEEOR. 

Angels ! and ministers of grace defend us I 

Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd, 

Bring with thee airs from heaven 

Or blasts from hell. Be thj intent wicked 

Or charitable, thou com'st in such a questionable shape 

That I will speak to thee. 

{Aspiration.) 

I've done the deed — didst thou not hear a noise ? 
There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cried murder. 

1 7. SURPEISE — AMAZEiVIENT. 

Gone to be married, gone to swear a peace! 

False blood to false blood joined ! Gone to be friends ! 

Shall Lewis have Blanche ? and Blanche these provinces ? 

{Sitdden.) 
Yes ; — His Amelia; — by and bye, — she's dead. 
'7«s nice she comes to sveaTc of Cassio''s death^ 
The noise teas Mgh. — Ha 1 no more moving! 
Still as the grave; — Shall she come iii, wert — goodf 

21 . — PEEPLEXiTT — {Irresolution^ anxiety.) 
Which way shall I fly ? Infinite wrath and infinite despair — 
"Which way I fly is hell, myself am hell. 
And in the lowest depth a lower deep, 
Still threatening to devour, opens wide. 
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. 

19. — EEMOESE. 

{Dreadful anguish.) 
And hence became a robber and a murderer {strilces Ms 



136 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Ireast). Oh ! fool, fool ! the victim of infernal treachery, and 
now a murderer and assassin — (walJcs) * * (stops) and that 
poor father in a dungeon (suppressed^, what cause have I for 
Eage or Complaint ? (affects composure). 

Whence is that knocking ? 
How is't with me, when every noise appals me? 
"What hands are here ? Ha ! they pluck out mine eyes ! 
"Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my hand ? no ; this mj hand will rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnardine, 
Making the green— one red. 

7. — COMPLAINING — (exteeme PAIN.) — Mcccssivc Grief. 
Oh ! I am shot ! a forked burning arrow 
Sticks across my shoulders ; the sad venom flies 
Like lightning through my flesh, my blood, my marrow. 
Ha ! what a change of torments I endure ! 
A bolt of ice runs hissing through my bowels ; 
'Tis sure the aim of death ; give me a chair ; 
Cover me for I freeze, and my teeth chatter 
And my knees knock together. 

19,20, 21. — VEXATION — (Perplexity, Complaining and 
Remorse.) 
O what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
Is it not monstrous, that this player here, 

* * What's Hecaba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
That he should weep for her ? 

22. — 3 ANGEE — (Different styles). 

23. — \ EAGE, FUET. 

(Unrestrained Fury.) 
Alive ! in triumph ! and Mercutio slain ? 
Away to heaven respective lenity. 
And fire-eyed fary be my conduct now! 
Now Tybalt take the villain back again 
That late thou gav'st me : for Mercutio's soul 
Is but a little way above our heads 
And thou or I must bear him company. 



EXAMPLES OF THE TASSIONS. 137 

19, 27, 26. — REVENGE. 

Eevenge, revenge this violated, this profaned head ; here I 
tear forever the fraternal bond ; here, in the sight of heaven 
I cnrse him. * * * Bring him to me alive and millions 
shall be your reward. 

Poison be their drink ! 

Gall worse than gall, the daintiest meat they taste. 

27. — MALICE — {Continued anger.) 
How like a fawning publican he looks; 
I hate him, for he is a Christian. 

If I can once catch him upon the hip 

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 

28. DESPAIE. 

To die — to have mj ashes trampled on 
By the proud foot of scorn ! — Polluted ! — Oh ! — 
Who dares to mock my guilt ? — Is't you ? or you ? 
"Wrack me that grinning fiend ! — There, see there ! 
Yv'ho spits upon my grave ? — I'll stab again ! I'll — oh I 

Alive again ? then show me where he is. 

I'll give a thousand pounds to look upon him. — 

He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them — 

Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright 

Like lime-twig5 to catch my winged soul ! 

Give me some drink, and bid the apothecary 

Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. 

29. — DISTRACTION — MADNESS. 

Ay ! laugh ye fiends I I feel the truth ; 
Tour task is done ; I'm mad ! I'm mad ! 

They come again ! They tear my brain ! 
They seize my heart ! — they choke my breath. 

O this poor brain ! ten thousand shapes of fary 
Are whirliog there, and reason is no more. 



138 VOICE AND ACTION. 

30.— Fatigue. 
I see man's life is a tedious one ; 
I should be sick but that my resolution helps me. 

{Hunger) Dear master, I can go no further ; Oh, I die for food? 
Here I lie down and measure out my grave. 

I must stop here. {down). My joints are shook asunder ; my 
tongue cleaves to my mouth. 

8 1 . — FAINTING". — 3 2 . — DE ATH. 

Oh ! I cannot ! 
I have no strength ; but want thy feeble aid. — 
Ah ! cruel poison ! 

Absent thee from felicity awhile, 

And in this hai'sh world draw thy breath in pain 

To tell my story ; — 

Oh ! I die, Horatio ! 

The potent poison quite o'erthrows my spirit — 

The rest is silence. 

JEALOUSY. 

{Surprise.) 
Think my lord ! — By heaven he echoes me ! 
As if there were some monster in his thought 
Too hideous to be shown — Thou dost mean something. 

If I do prove her haggard — 
Though her jesses were my dear heart-strings 
I'd whistle her off and let her down the wind 
To prey at fortune. 

She's gone, I am abused, — and my relief 
Must be — to loathe her. 

If thou dost slander her and torture me 
Never pray more. Abandon all remorse ; 
On horror's head horrors accumulate, do deeds 
To make heaven weep, all earth amazed ; 
For nothing canst thou to damnation add 
Greater than that. 



EXAMPLES OF THE PASSIONS. 139 

33. VEXEEATIOIS'. 

Oh ! thou Eternal one ; whose presence bright 

All space doih occupy, all motion guide ; 
Being above all beings, Mighty one, 

Whom none can comprehend and none explore. 

collin's ode to the passions. 
When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung, 
The Pass'ons, oft, to hear her shelly 
Throng'd around her magic cell ; 

4 16 23 31 

Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting. 
Possessed beyond the muse's painting ; 
By turns, they felt the glowing mind 
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined ; 
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 

23 18 

Filled with Fury, rapt, inspired, 
From the supporting myrtles round, 
They snatched her instruments of sound ; 
And as they oft had heard apart, 
Sweet lessons of her tuneful art. 
Each, (for Madness ruled the hour,) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

16 

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 

Amid the chords bewildered laid, 
And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 

E'en at the sound himself had made. 

22 

Next Anger rushed, his eyes on fire, 

In lightnings owned his secret stings ; 
In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 

And swept with hurried hand the strings. 

28 

With woeful measures, wan Despair 

Low, sudden sounds his grief beguiled ; 
A solemn, strange and mingled air ; 

'Twas sad by fits ; by starts 'twas wild. 



140 VOICE A]S^D ACTIOIT. 

10 

But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, 
What was thj delighted measure ? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure, 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ; 
Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
She called Echo still through all her song ; 
And where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close : 
And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden 
hair. 

And longer had she sung, but with a frown 

26 

Eevenge impatient rose. 
He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, 

And with a withering look. 

The war-denouncing trumpet took. 
And blew a blast so loud and dread. 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so fall of woe ; 

And ever and anon, he beat 

The doubling drum with furious heat, 
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between. 

Dejected Pity, at his side. 
Her soul-subduing voice applied ; 
Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien, 
While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from 
his head. 

34 

Thy numbers. Jealousy, to nought were fixed — 

Sad proof of thy distressful state : 
Of differing themes the veering song was mixed ; 

5 15 

And now it courted Love ; now, raving, called on Hate. 
With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 

8 
Pale Melancholy, sat retired. 

And, from her wild, sequestered seat, 
In notes by distance made more sweet, 



EXAMPLES OF THE PASSIONS. 141 

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul ; 

And dashing soft from rocks around, 

Bubbling runnels joined the sound; 
Thro' glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 
Or o'er some stream with fond delay, 

(Round a lioly calm diffusing, 

Love of peace and and lonely musing,) 
In hollow murmers died away. 

But Oh ! how altered was its sprightlier tone, 

2 

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 
Her bow acro?s her shoulder flung, 

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew. 

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 

The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known. 
The oak-crowned sisters and their chaste-eyed queen, 
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, 
Peeping from forth their alleys green; 
Brown exercise rejoiced to hear, 
And Sport leaped up and seized his beechen spear. 

4 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial ; 

He, with viny crown advancing, 

First to the lively pipe his baud addressed; 
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol. 

Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 
They would have thought, who heard the strain, 

They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids. 

Amid the festal-sounding shades, 

To some unwearied minstrel dancing, 

While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, 

5 3 

Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round, 
(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,) 
And he amid his frolic play. 
As if he would the charming air repay, 
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 



142 VOICE AND ACTIOIJJ'. 



READIISrGS 



l^^OETH-AMEEICAN INDIANS. 

Not many generations ago, wliere you now sit, en- 
circled with all that exalts and emT)ellishes civilized 
life, the rank thistle nodded in the wind, and the wild 
fox dug his hole unscared. Here lived and loved anoth- 
er race of beings. Beneath the same sun that rolls 
over your heads, the Indian hunter pursued the panting 
deer ; gazing on the same moon that smiles for you, 
the Indian lover wooed his dasky mate. Here the 
wigwam-blaze beamed on the tender and helpless ; the 
council fire glared on the wise and the daring. Now 
they dipped their noble limbs in your sedgy lakes, and 
now they paddled the light canoe along your rocky- 
shores. Here they warred ; the echoing whoop, the 
bloody grapple, the defying death song, all were here ; 
and when the tiger-strife was over, here curled the 
smoke of peace. 

Here, too, they worshipped ; and from many a dark 
bosom went up a fervent prayer to the Great Spirit. 
He had not written his laws for them on tables of stone, 
but he had traced them on the tables of their hearts. 
The poor child of nature knew not the God of Revela- 
tion, but the God of the universe he acknowledged in 
everything around. He beheld him in the star that 
sank in beauty behind his lonely dwelling ; in the 
sacred orb that fiamed on him from his mid-day throne ; 
in the flower that snapped in the morning breeze ; in 
the lofty pine that defied a thousand whirlwinds ; in the 
timid warbler that never left his native grove ; in the 



EEADINGS FOR PRACTICE. 143 

fearless eagle, whose untired pinion was wet in clouds ; 
in the worm that crawled at his feet ; and in his own 
matchless form, glowing with a spark of that light, to 
whose mysterious source he bent in humble, though 
blind adoration. And all this has passed away. Here 
and there a stricken few remain ; but how unlike their 
bold, untamed, untamable progenitors ! The Indian 
of falcon-glance and lion-bearing, the theme of the 
touching ballad, the hero of the pathetic tale, is gone ; 
and his degraded offspring crawls upon the soil where 
he walked in majesty, to remind us how miserable is 
man, when the foot of the conqueror is on his neck. 

As a race, they haA-e withered from the land. Their 
arrows are broken, their springs are dried up, their 
cabins are in the dust. Their council fire has long 
since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast 
dying to the untrodden West. Slowly and sadly they 
climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the 
setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty 
tide which is pressing them away. They must soon 
hear the roar of the last wave, which will settle over 
them forever. 



BATTLE OF IVRY. 

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glo- 
ries are ! 

And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of !N'a- 
varre ! 

Now let there be the merry sound of music and the 
dance, 

Through thy cornfields green, and sunny vales, O pleas- 
ant land of France ! 

And thou Kochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of 
the waters, 



144 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning 
daughters : 

As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, 

For cold and stiff and still are they who would thy 
walls annoy. 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance 
of war ; 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Ivry and King Henry of Na- 
varre ! 

The king has come to marshal us, in all his armor 

drest, 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant 

crest ; 
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye, 
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern 

and high. 
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing 

to wing, 
Down all our line, a deafening shout, " God save our 

lord, the khig ! " 
" And if my standard-bearer fall — as fall full well he 

may. 
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray — 
Press where you see my white plume shine, amid the 

ranks of war, 
And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre." 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled 

din 
Of fife and steed and trump and drum and roaring 

culverin ! 
The fiery duke is pricking fast across St. Andre's plain. 
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Al- 

mayne. 



READINGS FOR PRACTICE. 145 

N'ow, by the lips of those je love, fair gentlemen of 
France, 

Charge for the golden lilies, now, upon them with the 
lance ! 

A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears 
in rest, 

A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow- 
white crest. 

And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a 
guiding star, 

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of ISTa- 
varre. 

IISTDIAN SPEECH. 

White man, there is eternal war between me and 
thee ! I quit not the land of my fathers but with my 
life. In those woods where I bent my youthful bow, 
I will still hunt the deer. Over yonder waters I will 
still glide, unrestrained, in my bark canoe. By those 
dashing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter's store 
of food. On these fertile meadows I will still plant my 
corn. Stranger, the land is mine ! I understand not 
these paper-rights. I gave not my consent when, as 
thou sayest, these broad regions were purchased, for a 
few baubles, of my fathers. They could sell what was 
theirs, — they could sell no more. How could my fa- 
thers sell that which the Great Spirit sent me into the 
world to live upon ? They knew not what they did. 
The stranger came, a timid suppliant, few and feeble, 
and asked to lie down on the red man's bear-skin, and 
Avarm himself at the red man's fire, and have a little 
piece of land to raise corn for his women and children ; 
and now he is become strong and mighty and bold, and 
spreads out his parchment over the whole, and says, 



146 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Tlie Great Spirit has not made us to live together. 
There is poison in the white man's cup ; the white 
man's dog barks at the red man's heels. If I should 
leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly ? 
Shall I go to the South and dwell among the graves of 
the Pequots ? Shall I wander to the West ? The 
fierce Mohawk, the man-eater is my foe. Shall I fly to 
the East ? The great water is before me. 'No, stran- 
ger, here have I lived, and here will I die ! and if here 
thou abidest there is eternal war between me and thee. 
Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction. For that 
alone I thank thee : and now take heed to thy steps ; 
the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth by day 
my bullet shall whistle by thee ; when thou liest down 
at night, my knife is at thy throat. The noonday sun 
shall not discover thy enemy, and the darkness of night 
shall not protect thy rest. Thou shall plant in terror 
and I will reap in blood ; thou shalt sow the earth with 
corn, and I will strew it with ashes ; thou shalt go 
forth with the sickle, and I will follow after with the 
scalping knife ; thou shalt build and I will burn, till the 
white man or the Indian shall cease from the land. Go 
thy way, for this time in safety ; but remember, stran- 
ger, there is eternal war between me and thee. 

JULIUS C^SAE. 

Cas. — (r. c.) That you have wronged me doth ap- 
pear in this : 

You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella 

For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 

Wherein my letters, praying on his side, 

Because I knew the man, were slighted ofl". 

£ru. — (c.) You wronged yourself to write in such 
a case. 



READINGS FOE PRACTICE. 147 

Cas. — In such a time as this it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear its comment. 

Bru. — Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemned to have an itching palm ; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold 
To undeservers. 

Cas. — I an itching palm ? 
You know you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 

JBru. — Remember March, the Ides of March re- 
member. 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
What villain touched his body that did stab, 
And not for justice ? What ! shall one of us. 
That stru(>k the foremost man of all this world, 
But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes. 
And sell the mighty space of our large honors 
For so much trash, as may be grasped thus ? 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Gas. — Brutus, bay not me : 
I'll not endure it. I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 



Bru. — You say you are a better soldier : 
Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true. 
And it shall please me well. For mine own part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 

Cas. — You wrong me ; every way you wrong me, 
Brutus ; 
I said an elder soldier, not a better 
Did I say better ? 



148 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Bru. — If you did, I care not. 

(7(25. — Do not presume too mucli upon my love ; 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. — You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius' in your threats ; 
For I am armed so strong in honesty, 
That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
Which 1 respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; 
Fori can raise no money by vile means : 
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash, 
By any indirection. I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions, 
Which you denied me : was that done like Cassius ? 
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
Be ready, Gods, with all your thunderbolts. 
Dash him to pieces ! {crosses to i^.) 

Gas. — I denied you not. 

Bru. — You did. 

Gas. — I did not : he was but a fool 
That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath rived my 

heart : 
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities ; 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Btu. — I do not, till you practice them on me. 

Gas. — You love me not. 

JBru. — I do not like your faults. 

Gas. — A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bvu. — (e. c.) a flatterer's would not, though they 
do appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 



EEADINGS FOE PEACTICE. 149 



SONG OF THE GEEEKS, 1822. 

1 Again to the battle, Achaians ! 
Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance ; 

Our land, — the first garden of Liberty's tree, — 
It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free ; 

For the cross of our faith is replanted, 

The pale dying crescent is daunted, 
And we inarch that the footprints of Maliomet's slaves. 
May be wash'd out in blood from our forefathers' 
graves. 

Their spirits are hovering o'er us, 

And the sioord shall to glory restore us. 

2 Ah ! what though no succor advances, 
Nor Christendoms's chivalrous lances 

Are stretch'd in our aid ? — Be the combat our own ! 

And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone ; 
For we've sworn by our country's assaulters, 
By the virgins they've dragged from our altars, 

By our massacred patriots, our children in chains. 

By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins, 
That, living, we will be victorious, 
Or that, dying, our deaths shall be glorious. 

3 A breath of submission we breathe not : 

The sioord that we've drawn we will sheathe not : 
Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid. 
And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade. 

Earth may hide, waves engulf, fire consume us ; 

But they shall not to slavery doom us : 
If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves : — 
But we've smote them already with fire on the waves, 

And new triumphs on laiid are before us ; — 

To the charge ! — Heaven's banner is o'er us. 



150 VOICE AND ACTION. 

GOD. 

tbou Eternal One ! whose presence bright 
All space cloth occupy, all motion guide, 
Unchanged through Time's all-devastating flight ; 
Thou only God ! There is no God beside ! 
Being above all beings ! Mighty One ! 
Whom none can comprehend and none explore ; 
Who fiil'st existence with TJiyself alone ; 
Embracing all, — supporting, — ruling o'er, — 
Being whom we call God — and know no more ! 

In its sublime research, philosophy 

May measure out the ocean deep— may count 

The sands or the sun's rays — but, God ! for thee 

There is no weight nor measure ; none can mount 

Up to thy mysteries ; reason's brightest spark, 

Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try 

To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark ; 

And thought is lost 'ere thought can soar so high, 

Even like past moments in eternity. 

A million torches lighted by thy hand 
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss ; 
They own thy power, accomplish thy command. 
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 
What shall we call them ? Piles of crystal light— 
A glorious company of golden streams — 
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright — 
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? 
But thou to these art as the noon to night. 

Yes ! as a drop of water in the sea, 

All this magnificence in thee is lost ; — 

What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee ? 

And what am I then ? Heaven's unnumbered host. 



EEADIXGS FOR PEACTICE. 151 

Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 
In all the glory of sublimest thought, 
Is but an atom in the balance, weighed 
Against thy greatness, is a cipher brought 
Against infinity ! O, what am I then ? iSTought ! 

Xought ! yet the effluence of thy light divine, 

Pervading worlds hath reached my bosom too ; 

Yes ! in my spirit doth thy spirit shine. 

As shines a sunbeam in a drop of dew. 

iN'ought ! yet I live, and on hope's pinions fly 

Eager towards thy j^resence ; for in thee 

I live, and breathe, and dwell, aspiring high, 

Even to the throne of thy divinity. 

I am, O God ! and surely thou must be. 

Creator, Yes ! thy wisdom and thy word 
Created me ! thou source of life and good ! 
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord ! 
Thy light, thy love, in their bright plentitude 
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring 
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear 
The garments of eternal day, and wing 
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, 
Even to its source — to thee — its author there. 

O thoughts ineffable ! visions blest ! 
Though worthless our conceptions all of thee. 
Yet shall thy shadowed image fill our breast, 
And waft its homage to thy Deity. 
God ! thus alone my lonely thoughts can soar ; 
Thus seek thy presence. Being wise and good ! 
'Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore. 
And when the tongue is eloquent no more. 
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. 



152 VOICE AND ACTIOIS". 



Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears : 

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 

The evil that men do lives after tliem ; 

The good is oft interred with their bones ; 

So let it be with C^sar. The noble Brutus 

Hath told you, Ca3sar was ambitious : 

If it were so, it was a grievous fault, 

And grievously hath Caesar answered it. 

Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 

(For Brutus is an honorable man ; 

So are they all, all honorable men,) 

Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. — 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me ; 
But Brutus says he was ambitious, 
And Brutus is an honorable man. 
He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill. 
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious. 
And Brutus is an honorable man. 
You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious. 
And, sure, he is an honorable man. 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
But here I am'to speak what I do know. 
You all did love him once, not without cause : 
What cause witholds you then to mourn for him? 
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, 



EEADT^^GS FOR PRACTICE. 153 

And men have lost their reason ! — ^bear with me ; 
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
And I must pause till it come back to me. 

But yesterday, the word of Csesar might 
Have stood against the world ; now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

Masters ! if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong. 
Who, you all know, are honorable men. 

I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, 

Than I will wrong such honorable men : 

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar, — 

I found it in his closet ; 't is his will. 

Let but the commons hear this testament 

(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read). 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 

Tea, beg a hair of him for memory. 

And, dying, mention it within their wills. 

Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy. 

Unto their issue. — 

If you have te'ars, prepare to shed them now. 
Tou all do know this mantle ; I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent ; 
That day he overcame the Nervii. — 
Look ! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through : 
See what a rent the envious Casca made : 
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed ; 
And as he plucked his cursed steel away, 
Mark, how the blood of Caesar followed it ! — 
This was the most unkiudest cut of all! 
^2* 



154 VOICE AND ACTION. 

For when the nohle Csesar saw him stab, 

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 

Quite vanquished him ! Then hurst his mighty heart ; 

And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 

Even at the base of Pompey's statue, 

Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 

O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 

Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down, 

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 

O, now you weep ; and I perceive you feel 

The dint of pity : — these are gracious drops. 

Kind souls ! what, weep you when you but behold 

Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look ye here ! 

Here is himself — marred, as you see, by traitors. 

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny ! 
They that have done this deed are honorable ! 
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
That made them do it ! They are wise and honor- 
able ! 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
But as you all do know, a plain, blunt man, 
That love my friend ; and that they know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth. 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
And tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet Caesars wounds, poor, poor dumb 

mouths. 
And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 



READINGS FOR PEACTICE. 155 



Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of C£esar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 



SALADTN AND MALEK ADHEL. 

Attendant. A stranger craves admittance to your 
Highness. 

Saladin. Whence comes he ? 

Attendant. That I know not. 
Enveloped with a vestment of strange form, 
His countenance is hidden ; but his step, 
His lofty port, his voice in vain disguised, 
Proclaim, — if that I dare pronounce it, — 

Saladin. Whom? 

Attendant. Thy royal brother I 

Saladin. Bring him instantly. \_Mcit Attendant. 
I^ow, with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue, 
Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinks 
To dissipate my anger. He shall die ! 

[Enter Attendant and Malek Adhel. 
Leave us together. \_Exit Attendant^ [Aside.] I 

should know that form. 
Now summon all thy fortitude, my soul, 
ISTor, though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty ! 
[Aloud.] W^ell, stranger, speak ; but first unvail thy- 
self, 
For Saladin must view the form that fronts him. 

Malek Adhel. Behold it, then ! 

Saladin. I see a traitor's visage. 

Malek Adhel. A brother's ! 

Salad hi. No ! 
Saladin owns no kindred with a villain. 

Malek Adhel. O, patience, Heaven ! Had any 
tonsfue but thine 



156 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Uttered tliat word, it ne'er should speak another. 

Saladm. And wliy not now ? Can this heart be 
more pierced 
By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds ? 
O, thou hast made a desert of this bosom ! 
For open candor, planted sly disguise; 
For confidence, suspicion ; and the glow 
Of generous friendship, tenderness and love, 
Forever banished ! Whither can I turn, 
When he by blood, by gratitude, by faith. 
By every tie, bound to support, forsakes me ? 
Who, who can stand, when Malek Adhel falls ? 
Henceforth I turn me from the s weets of love : 
The smiles of friendship, and this glorious world, 
In which all find some heart to rest upon, 
Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void, — 
His brother has betrayed him ! 

Malek Adhel. Thou art softened ; 
I am thy brother, then ; but late thou saidst, — 
My tongue can never utter the base title ! 

Saladin. Was it traitor ? True ! 
Thou hast betrayed me in my fondest hopes ! 
Villain ? 'Tis just ; the title is appropriate ! 
Dissembler ? 'Tis not written in thy face ; 
ISTo, nor imprinted on that specious brow ; 
But on this breaking heart the name is stamped. 
Forever stamped, with that of Malek Adhel ! 
Thinkest thou I'm softened ? By Mohammed ! these 

hands 
Should crush these aching eye-balls, ere a tear 
Fall from them at thy fate ! O monster, monster ! 
The brute that tears the infant from its nurse 
Is excellent to thee ; for in his form 
The impulse of his nature may be read ; 
But thou, so beautiful, so proud, so noble, 



EEADIXGS FOE PEACTICE. 157 

O, wliat a wretch art thou ! O ! can a term 
In all the various tongues of man be found 
To match thy infamy ? 

Malek Adhel. Go on ! go on ! 
'Tis but a little time to hear thee, Saladin; 
And, bursting at thy feet, this heart will prove 
Its penitence, at least. 

Sal. That were an end 

Too noble for a traitor ! The bowstring is 
A more appropriate finish ! Thou shalt die ! 

3Ial. Ad. And death were welcome at another's 
mandate. 
What, what have I to live for ? Be it so, 
If that, in all thy armies, can be found 
An executing hand. 

Sal. Oh, doubt it not ! 

They're eager for the office. Perfidy, 
So black as thine, effaces from their minds 
All memory of thy former excellence. 

Mai. Ad. Defer not then their wishes. Saladin, 
If e'er this form was joyful to thy sight. 
This voice seem'd grateful to thine ear, accede 
To my last prayer : — Oh, lengthen not this scene, 
To which the agonies of death were pleasing ! 
Let me die speedily ! 

Sal. This very hour ! 

[Aside.'] For, oh ! the more I look upon that face, 
The more I hear the accents of that voice. 
The monarch softens, and the judge is lost 
In all the brother's weakness ; yet such guilt, — 
Such vile ingratitude, — it calls for vengeance ; 
And vengeance it shall have ! What, ho ! who waits 
there ? \_Enter Attendant. 

Atten. Did your highness call. 

Sal. Assemble quickly 



158 VOICE AXD ACTION". 

My forces in the court. Tell them they come 
To view the death of yonder bosom-traitor. 
And bid them mark, that he who will not spare 
His brother when he errs, expects obedience, 
Silent obedience, from his followers. 

[JExit Attendant 
Mai. Ad. Now, Saladin, 

The word is given, I have nothing more 
To fear from my brother. I am not 
About to crave a miserable life. 
Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem, 
Life were a burden to me. Think not, either, 
The justness of thy sentence I would question. 
But one request now trembles on my tongue, — 
One wish still clinging round the heart ; which soon 
Not even that shall torture, — will it, then, 
Thinkest thou, thy slumbers render quieter, 
Thy waking thoughts more pleasing, to reflect, 
That when thy voice hath doomed a brother's death, 
The last request which e'er was his to utter 
Thy harshness made him carry to the grave ? 

Saladin. Speak then ; but ask thyself if thou hast 
reason 
To look for much indulgence here. 

Mai. Ad. I have not ! 
Yet will I ask for it. We part forever ; 
This is our last farewell ; the king is satisfied ; 
The judge has spoke the irrevocable sentence. 
None sees, none hears, save that Omniscient Power, 
Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon 
Two brothers part like such. When, in the face 
Of forces once my own, I'm led to death. 
Then be thine eye unmoistened ; let thy voice 
Then speak my doom untrembling ; then. 
Unmoved, behold this stiff and blackened corse. 



READINGS FOR PRACTICE. 159 

But now I ask — Day, turn not, Saladin, — 

I ask one single pressure of thy hand ; 

From that stern eye, one solitary tear, — 

O, torturing recollection ! — one kind word 

From the loved tongue that once breathed naught but 

kindness. 
Still silent ? Brother ! friend ! beloved companion 
Of all my youthful sports ! — are they forgotten ?— 
Strike me with deafness, make me blind, O Ileaven ! 
Let me not see this unforgiving man 
Smile at my agonies ! nor hear that voice 
Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word, 
One little word, whose cherished memory 
Would soothe the struggles of departing life ! 
Yet thou wilt ! Oh, turn thee, Saladin ! 
Look on my face — thou can'st not spurn me then ; 
Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel 
For the last time, and call him — 

Sal. [seizing his handS\ Brother ! brother ! 

Mai. Ad. {breaking away.'] E'ow call thy follow 
ers. 
Death has not now a single paug in store. Proceed, 
I'm ready. 

/Sal. Oh, art thou ready to forgive, my brother ? 
To pardon him who found one single error, 
One little failing, 'mid a splendid throng 
Of glorious qualities — 

3fal. Ad. Oh, stay thee, Saladin ! 
I did not ask for life. I only wished 
To carry thy forgiveness to the grave. 
^o. Emperor, the loss of Cesarea 
Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel. 
Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost 
What cost them many a weary hour to gain, 
Should expiate his oflences with his life. 



160 VOICE Al^D ACTION. 

Lo ! even now they crowd to view my death, 
Thy just impartiality. I go ! 
Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf 
To thy proud wreath of glory. [ Going. 

8al. Thou shalt not. 

l^Enter Attendant. 

Atten. My lord, the troops assembled by your order 
Tumultuous throng the courts. The prince's death 
Not one of them but vows he will not suffer. 
The mutes have fled, the very guards rebel. 
ISTor think I, in this city's spacious round, 
Can e'er be found a hand to do the office. 

Mai Ad. O faithful friends ! [To Atten.'] Thine 
shalt. 

Atten. Mine? — ISTever !— 
The other first shall lop it from the body. 

Sal. They teach the Empei-or his duty well. 
Tell them he thanks them for it. Tell them, too, 
That ere their opposition reached our ears, 
Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel; 

Attendayit. O joyful news ! 
I haste to gladden many a gallant heart, 
And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek. 
Unused to such a visitor. \Exit?[ 

Saladin. These men, the meanest in society, 
The outcasts of the earth, — by war, by nature. 
Hardened and rendered callous, — these who claim 
No kindred with thee, — who have never heard 
The accents of affection from thy lips, — 

0, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance, 
Throw off their long obedience, risk their lives, 
To save thee from destruction. While I, 

1, who cannot, in all my memory, 

Call back one danger which thou hast not shared. 
One day of grief, one night of revelry. 



READINGS FOR PRACTICE. 161 

Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed, 

Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter, — 

I, who have thrice in the ensanguined field, 

When death seemed certain, only uttered — " Brother !" 

And seen that form, like lightning, rush between 

Saladin and his foes, and that brave breast, 

Dauntless exposed to many a furious blow 

Intended for my own — I could forget 

That 'twas to thee I owed the very breath 

Which sentenced thee to perish ! O, 'tis shameful ! 

Thou can'st not pardon me ! 

Mai. Adj. By these tears, I can ! 
O brother ! from this very hour, a new, 
A glorious life commences ! I am all thine ! 
Again the day of gladness or of anguish 
Shall 3Ialek Adhel share ; and oft again 
May this sword fence thee in the bloody field. 
Henceforth Saladin, 
My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine forever ! 



162 VOICE AND ACTION. 

WASHINGTON'S 
FAREWELL ADDBESS 

TO THE 

PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES. 

(extracts.) 



Inserted as a very difficult piece of reading. 



Friends and Fellow Citizens : — The period for 
a new election of a citizen, to administer the executive 
government of the United States, "being not far distant, 
and the time actually arrived, when your thoughts must 
be employed in designating the person who is to be 
clothed with that important trust, it appears to me prop- 
er, especially as it may conduce to a more distinct ex- 
pression of the public voice, that I should now apprise 
you of the resolution I have formed, to decline being 
considered among the number of those, out of whom a 
choice is to be made. 

In looking forward to the moment which is to ter- 
minate the career of my political life, my feelings do 
not permit me to suspend the deep acknowledgment of 
that debt of gratitude which I owe to my beloved 
country for the many honors it has conferred upon me; 
still more for the steadfast confidence with which it has 
supported me ; and for the opportunities I have thence 
enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable attachment, by 
services faithful and persevering, though in usefulness 
unequal to my zeal. 



READINGS FOR PRACTICE. 163 

Interwoven as is the love of liberty with every liga- 
ment of your hearts, no recommendation of mine is. ne- 
cessary to fortify or confirm the attachment. 

The unity of Government which constitutes you one 
people, is also now dear to you. It is justly so ; for it 
is a main pillar in the edifice of your real independence, 
the support of your tranquillity at home, your peace 
abroad ; of your safety ; of your prosperity ; of that 
very Liberty, which you so highly prize. But as it is 
easy to foresee, that, from difierent causes and from 
different quarters, much pains will be taken, many ar- 
tifices employed, to weaken in your minds the convic- 
tion of this truth; as this is the point in your political 
fortress against which the batteries of internal and ex- 
ternal enemies will be most constantly and actively 
(though often covertly and insidiously) directed, it is 
of infinite moment that you should properly estimate 
the immense value of your national Union to your col- 
lective and individual happiness ; that you should 
cherish a cordial, habitual, and immoveable attachment 
to it ; accustoming yourselves to think and speak of it 
as of the Palladium of your political safety and pros- 
perity ; watching for its preservation with jealous 
anxiety ; discountenancing whatever may suggest even 
a suspicion that it can in any event be abandoned ; and 
indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every 
attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the 
rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link to- 
gether the various parts. 

For this you have every inducement of sympathy 
aud interest. Citizens, by birth or choice, of a common 
country, that country has a right to concentrate your 
affections. The name of American, which belongs to 
you, in your national capacity, must always exalt the 
just pride of Patriotism, more than any appellation de- 
rived from local discriminations. 



164 VOICE AND ACTION. 

This Government, tlie offspring of oui' own choice, 
uninfluenced and unawed, adopted upon full inves- 
tigation and mature deliberation, completely free in 
its principles, in the distribution of its powers, unit- 
ing security with energy, and containing within itself 
a provision for its own amendment, has a just claim to 
your confidence and your support. Sespect for its 
authority, compliance with its laws, acquiescence in its 
measures, are duties enjoined by the fundamental max- 
ims of true Liberty. The basis of our political systems 
is the right of the people to make and to alter their 
Constitutions of Government. But the Constitution 
which at any time exists, till changed by an explicit 
and authentic act of the whole people, is sacredly ob- 
ligatory upon all. The very idea of the power and 
the right of the people to establish Government presup- 
poses the duty of every individual to obey the establish- 
ed Government. 

All obstructions to the execution of the Laws, all 
combinations and associations, under whatever plausi- 
ble character, with the real design to direct, control, 
counteract, or awe the regular deliberation and action 
of the constituted authorities, are destructive of this 
fundamental principle, and of fatal tendency. They 
serve to organize faction, to give it an artificial and ex- 
traordinary force ; to put, in the place of the delegated 
will of the nation, the will of a party, often a small but 
artful and enterprising minority of the community ; 
and, according to the alternate triumphs of different 
parties, to make the public administration the mirror 
of the ill-concerted and incongruous projects of faction, 
rather than the organ of consistent and wholesome plans 
digested by common counsels, and modified by mutual 
interests. 

Of all the dispositions and habits, which lead to 



READINGS FOR PRACTICE. 165 

political i^rosperity, Religion and Morality are indis- 
pensable supports. In vain would that man claim 
the tribute of Patriotism, who should labor to subvert 
these great pillars of human happiness, these firmest of 
props of the duties of Men and Citizens. 

Promote, then, as an object of primary importance, 
institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge. In 
proportion as the structure of government gives force 
to public opinion, it is essential that public opinion 
should be enlightened. 

Observe good faith and justice towards all nations ; 
cultivate peace and harmony with all. Religion and 
Morality enjoin this conduct ; and can it be that faith 
and good policy does not equally enjoin it ? It will be 
worthy of a free, enlightened, and, at no distant period, 
a great nation, to give to mankind the magnanimous 
and too novel example of a people always guided by 
an exalted justice and benevolence. 

Against the insidious wiles of foreign influence, (I 
conjure you to believe me, fellow citizens,) the jealousy 
of a free people ought to be constantly awake ; since 
history and experience prove, that foreign influence is 
one of the most baneful foes of Republican Government. 
But that jealousy, to be useful, must be impartial ; else 
it becomes the instrument of the very influence to be 
avoided, instead of a defence against it. 

The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign 
nations, is, in extending our commercial relations, to 
have with them as little jjoliticcd Qoxmeiiion as possible. 
So far as we have already formed engagements, let 
them be fulfilled with perfect good faith. Here let us 
stop. 

Though, in viewin<y the incidents of my administra- 
tion, I am unconscious of intentional error, I am never- 
theless too sensible of my defects not to think it proba- 



166 VOICE AND ACTION. 

ble tliat I may Lave committed many errors. What- 
ever they may be, I fervently beseech the Ahnighty to 
avert or mitigate the evils to which they may tend. I 
shall also carry with me the hope, that my Country 
will never cease to view them with indulgence; and 
that, after forty-five years of my life dedicated to its 
service with an uj3right zeal, the faults of incompetent 
abilities will be consigned to oblivion, as myself must 
soon be to the mansions of rest. 

Relying on its kindness in this as in other things, 
and actuated by that fervent love towards it, which is 
so natural to a man who views in it the native soil of 
himself and his progenitors for several generations, I 
anticipate with pleasing expectation that retreat, in 
which I promise myself to realize, without alloy, the 
sweet enjoyment of partaking, in the midst of my fel- 
low-citizens, the benign influence of good laws under a 
free government, the ever favorite object of my heart, 
and the happy reward, as I trust, of our mutual cares, 
labors, and dangers. 

GEORGE WASHINGTON 

United States^ September 11th, 1796. 



THE CAVALRY OHAEGE. 

"With bray of the trumpet 

And roll of the drum 
And keen ring of bugles, 

The cavalry come. 
Sharp clank the steel scabbards, 

The bridle cliains ring, 
And fo;im from red nostrils 

The wild chargers fling. 



SELECTIONS. 167 

Tramp ! tramp ! o'er the green sward 

That quivers below, 
Scarce held by the curb-bit 

The fierce horses go ! 
And the grim-visaged colonel, 

With ear-rending shout, 
Peals forth to the squadrons, 

ThQ ov^Qv—'' Trot out ! '' 

One hand on the sabre, 
And one on the rein, 

The troopers move forward 
In line on the plain. 

As rings the word " gallop ! " 

The steel scabbards clank. 
And each rowel is pressed 

To a horse's hot flank ; 
And swift is their rush 

As the wild torrent's flow 
"When it pours from the crag 

To the vallev below ! 

" Charge ! " thunders the leader : 

Like shaft from the bow 
Each mad horse is hurled 

On the wavering foe. 
A thousand bright sabres 

Are gleaming in air; 
A thousand dark horses 

Are dashed on the square. 

Kesistless and reckless 

Of aught may betide, 
Like demons, not mortals, 

The wild troopers ride. 
Cut right and cut left! — 

For the parry who needs ? 
The bayonets shiver 

Like wind-shattered reeds. 



168 VOICE AND ACTION. 

The wounds that are dealt 
By that murderous steel 

Will never yield case 
For the surgeons to Ileal. 

Hurrah ! they are broken- 
Hurrah ! boys, they fly — 

Kone linger save those 
"Who but linger to die. 

Eein up your hot horses 

And call in your men ; 
The trumpet sounds '•'-Rally 

To color!'''' — again. 
Some saddles are empty, 

Some comrades are slain, 
And some noble horses 

Lie stark on the plain ; 
But war's a chance game, boys, 

And weeping is vain. 

THE FIEST AKD LAST DINNEE. 

Twelve friends, much about the same age, and fixed by 
their pursuits, their family connection?, and other local in- 
terests, as permanent inhabitants of the metropolis, agreed 
one day v/hen they were drinking wine at the Star and Garter 
at Richmond, to institute an annual dinner among themselves, 
under the following regulations : — That they should dine 
alternately at each other's houses on the first and last day of 
the year ; and the first bottle of wine uncorked at the first 
dinner should be recorked and put awr.y, to be drunk by him 
who should be the last of their number; that they should 
never admit a new member; that, when one died, eleven 
should meet, and when another died, ten should, and so on ; 
and when only one re;naiued, he should on these two days 
dine by himself, and sit the usual hours at his solitary table; 
but the first time he had so dined, lest it should be the only 
one, he should then uncork the first bottle, and, in the first 
glass, drink to the memoi-y of all who were gone. 



SELECTIOXS. " 169 

Some thirty years liad now glided away, and only ten re- 
mained; but the stealing hand of time had wriltea sundry 
changes in most legible characters. Raveu locks had become 
grizzled ; two or three beads had not as many locks as may 
be reckoned in a walk of half a mile along the Regent's Can I 
— one was actually covered with a brown wig — the crow's 
feet were visible in the corner of the eye — good old port and 
warm Madeira carried against hock, claret, red burgundy, 
and champagne — stews, hashes, and ragouts, grew into favor 
— crusts were rarely called for to relish the cheese after dinner 
— conversation was less boisterous, and it turned cliiefly upon' 
politics and the state of the funds, or the value of landed prop- 
erty — apologies were made for coming in thick shoes and 
warm stockings— the doors and windows were more carefully 
provided with list — the fire was in more request — and a quiet 
game of whist tilled up the hours that were wont to be de- 
voted to drinking, singing, and riotous merriment. Two rub- 
bers, a cup of coffee, and at home by eleven o'clock, was the 
usual cry, when the fifth or sixth glass had gone round after 
tiie removal of the cloth. At parting, too, there was now a 
long ceremony in the hall, buttoning up great coats, tying on 
woolen comforters, fixing silk handkerchiefs over the mouth 
and up to the ears, and grasping sturdy walking-canes to sup- 
port unsteady feet. 

Their fiftieth anniversary came, and death had indeed been 
busy. Four little old men, of withered appearance and de- 
crepit walk, with cracked voices and dim, rayless eyes, sat 
down by the mercy of heaven, (as they tremulously declared,) 
to celebrate, for the fiftieth time, the first day of the year, to 
observe the frolic compact, which half a century before, they 
had entered into at the Star and Garter at Richmond. Eight 
were in their graves! The four that remained stood upon its 
confines. Yet they chirped cheerily over their ghiss, tliough 
they could scarcely carry it to their lips, if more than h.-df 
full: and cracked their jokes, though they articulated their 
words with difficulty, and heard each other witli still greater 
difficulty. They mumbled, they chattered, they lauglied, (if 
a sort of strangled wheezing might be called a laugh,) and as 
the wine sent their icy blood in warmer pulses through their 



170 VOICE AND ACTION. 

v^eins, they talked of their past as if it were but a yesterday 
that had slipped by tbein, and of their future as if it were but 
a busy century that lay before theni. 

At length came the last dinner ; and the survivor of the 
twelve, upon whose head four score and ten winters had 
slioAvered their snow, ate his solitary meal. It so chanced that 
it was in bis house, and at his table, they celebrated the first. 
In bis cellar, too, hadn-emained the bottle they had then un- 
corked, recoiked, and which he was that day to uncork again. 
It stood beside him. With a feeble and reluctant grasp he 
took the " frail memorial " of a youthful vow, and for a mo- 
ment memory was faithful to her office. She threw open the 
long vista of buried years ; and his heart travelled through 
them all : Their lusty and blithesome spring, — their bright 
and fervid summer, — their ripe and temperate autumn, — their 
chill, but not too frozen winter. He saw, as in a mirror, how 
one by one tlie laughing companions of that merry hour, at 
Eichmond, had dropped into eternity. He felt the loneliness 
of his condition, (for he had eschewed marriage, and in the 
veins of no living creature ran a drop of blood whose source 
V/as in his own,) and as he drained the glass which he had 
filled, "to the memory of those who were gone," the tears 
slowly trickled down the deep furrows of his aged face. 

He had fulfilled one part of his vow, and he prepared him- 
self to discharge the other by sitting the usual number of 
hours at his desolate table. With a heavy heart he resigned 
himself to the gloom of his own thoughts — a lethargic sleep 
stole over him — his head fell upon his bosom — confused im- 
ages crowded into his mind — he babbled to himself — wqs 
silent — and when his servant entered the room alarmed by a 
noise which he heard, he found his master stretched upon the 
carpet at the foot of an easy chair, out of which he had fallen 
in an apoplectic fit. He never spoke again, nor once opened 
his eyes, though the vital spark was not extinct till the follow- 
ing day. And this was the Last Dinner. 



SELECTIOXS. 171 

THE DEYIL AXD THE LAWYERS. 

The devil came up to the earth one day, 
And into a court-house wended his way, 
Just as an attorney with a very grave face 
Was proceeding to argue tlie "points in a case." 

Now a lawyer his majesty never liad seen. 
For to his dominions none ever had been, 
And he felt very anxious the reason to know, 
Why none had been sent to the regions below. 

'Twas the fault of his agents his majesty thought, 
That none of the lawyers had ever been caught. 
And for his own pleasure he felt a desire 
To come to the earth and the reason inquii-e. 

Well, the lawyer who rose with visage so grave 
Made out his opponent a consummate knave, 
And the devil was really amused 
To hear the attorney so greatly abused. 

But soon as the speaker had come to a close. 
The counsel opposing then fiercely arose, 
And heaped such abuse on the head of the first. 
That made him a villain of all men the worst. 

Thus they quarreled, contended and argued so long, 
It was hard to determine wiiich lawyer was wrong. 
And c>)ncluding he had heard quite enough of the fuss, 
Old Nick turned away and soliloquized thus : 

" If all they have said of each other be true. 
The devil has surely been robbed of his due. 
But I'm satisfied now, its all very well, 
Por the lawyers would ruin the morals of hell. 

*' They've puzzled the court with their villainous cavil, 
And I'm free to confess they've puzzled the devil ; 
My agents are right to let lawyers alone, 
If I had them they'd swindle me out of my throne." 



172 VOICE AND ACTION. 

YEET DAEK. 

The crimson tide was ebbing, and the pulse grew weak and 

faint, 
But the lips of that brave soldier scorned e'en now to make 

complaint ; 
" Fall in rank ! " a voice called to him, — calm and low was his 

reply : 
" Yes, if I can, I'll do it— I will do it, though I die." 
And he murmured, when the life-light had died out to just a 

spark, 
" It is growing very dark, mother — growing very dark." 

There were tears in manly eyes, then, and manly heads were 

bowed. 
Though the balls flew thick around them, and the cannons 

thundered loud; 
They gathered round the spot were the dying soldier lay, 
To catch the broken accents he was struggling then to say; 
And a change came o'er the features where death had set his 

mark, 
" It is growing very dark, mother — very, very dark." 

Far away his mind had wandered, to Ohio's hills and vales, 
"Where the loved ones watched and waited with that love that 

never fails ; 
He was with them as in childhood, seated in the cottage 

door, 
Where he watched the evening shadows slowly creeping on 

the floor ; 
Bend down closely, comrades, closely, he is speaking now, and 

hark!— 
" It is growing very dark, mother — very, very dark." 

He was dreaming of his mother, that her loving hand was 

pressed 
On his brow for one short moment, ere he sank away to rest ; 
That her lips were now imprinting a kiss upon his cheek. 
And a voice he well remembered spoke so soft, and low, and 

meek. 



SELECTIONS. 173 

Her gentle form was near him, her footsteps he could mark, 
"But 'tis growing very dark, mother — mother, verj dark." 

And the eye that once had kindled, flashing forth with patriot 

light. 
Slowly gazing, vainly strove to pierce the gathering gloom of 

night, 
Ah! poor soldier! Ah! fond mother, you are severed now 

for aye. 
Cold and pulseless, there he lies now, where he breathed his 

life away, 
Through this heavy cloud of sorrow shines there not one 

heavenly spark ? 
Ah! it has grown dark, mother — very, '\^ery dark. 

PAT AND THE PIG. 

We have read of a Pat so financially flat, 

That he hr.d neither money nor meat. 
And when hungry and thin, it was whisper'd by sin, 

That he ought to steal something to eat. 

So he went to the sty of a widow near by, 
And he gazed on the tenant — poor soul ! 

" Arrah now," said he, " what a trate that'll be," 
And the pig of the widow he stole. 

In a feast he rejoiced ; then he went to a judge. 

For in spite of tlie pork and the lard. 
There was something within, that was sharp as a pin, 

For his conscience was pricking hira hard. 

And he said with a tear, " Will your Kiverence hear 

What I have in sorrow to say ? " 
Then the story he told, and the tale did unfold 

Of the pig he had taken away. 

And the judge to him said, '' Ere you go to your bed 
You must pay for the pig you Ijave taken. 

For 'tis thus, by me sowl, you'll be saving your sowl. 
And will also be saving your bacon." 



174 VOICE AKD ACTION. 

" Oh, be jabers," said Pat, " I can nlver do that — 

Not the ghost of a hap'orth have I — 
And I'm wretched indade if a penny it nade 

Any pace for me conscience to bny." 

Then in sorrow he cried, and tbe judge he replied, 
" Only think how you'll tremble with fear 

When the judge you shall meet at the great judgment seat 
And the widow you plundered while here." 

" "Will the widow be there ? " whispered Pat with a stare, 
" And the pig? by my sowl, is it true ? " 

" They will surely be there," said the judge, " I declare, 
And, ob Paddy! what then will you do ? " 

*' Many thanks," answered Pat, " for your telling me that, 

May tlie blessings upon you be big ! 
On that settlemint day, to the widow I'll say, 

Mrs. rianuegan here is your pig ! " 

THE OLD MAN DEEAMS. 

for one hour of youthful joy ! 

Give back my twentieth spring ! 
I'd rather laugh a bright-haired boy 

Than reign a gray -beard king! 

Off with the wrinkled spoils of age! 

Away with learning's crown ! 
Tear out life's wisdom- written page. 

And dash its trophies down! 

One moment let my life-blodd stream 

From boyhood's fount of flame ! 
Give me one giddy, reeling dream 

Of life all love and fame ! 

My listening angel heard the prayer, 

And calmly smiling, said, 
" If I but touch thy silvered hair. 

Thy hasty wish hath sped. 



SELECTIONS. 1 75 

" But is there nothing in thy track 

To bid thee fondly stay, 
While tlje swifc seasons h^rry back 

To find the wished-for day ? " 

Ah, truest soul of womankind! 

"Without thee, what were life ? 
One bliss I cannot leave behind : 

I'll take — my— precious — wife I 

The angel took a sapphire pen 

And wrote in rainbow dew, 
'' The man would be a boy again, 

And be a husband too I " 

" And is there nothing yet unsaid 

Before the change of years ? 
Eemember, all their gifts have fled 

With those dissolving years ! " 

Why, yes ; for memory would recall 

My fond paternal joys ; 
I could not bear to leave them all : 

I'll take — my — girl — and — boys ! 

The smiling angel dropped his pen, — 

" Why this will never do ; 
The man would be a boy again. 

And be a father too ! " 

And so I laughed, — my laughter woke 
The household with its noise, — 
And wrote my dream, when morning broke, 
To please the gray-haired boys. 



And there they sat, a-popping corn, 
John Styles and Susan Cutter ; 

John Styles as fat as any ox. 
And Susan as fat as butter. 



176 VOICE AND ACTION. 

And there thej sat and shelled the corn, 
And raked and stirred the fire, 

And talked of different kinds of care, 
And hitched their chairs up nigher. 

Then Susan she the popper sliook. 
Then John he shook the popper ; 

Till both their faces gvQw as red 
As saucepans made of copper. 

And then thy shelled, and popped, and ate, 

All kinds of fun a-pokicg, 
While he haw-hawed at her remarks, 

And she laughed at his joking. 

And still they popped, and still they ate; 

John's mouth was like a hopper — 
And stirred the fire, and sprinkled salt, 

And shook and shook the popper. 

The clock struck nine— the clock struck ten, 
. And still the corn kept popping ; 
It struck eleven, and then struck twelve I 
And still no signs of stopping. 

And John he ate, and Sue she thought — 
The corn did pop and patter ; 

Till John cried out "- The corn's a-fire I 
Why Susan, what's the matter?" 

Said she, " John Styles, it's one o'clock ; 

You'll die of indigestion ; 
I'm sick of all this popping corn — 
Why don't you pop the question? " 



SELECTIOI^^S. 177 

THE BATTLE. 

After the manner of Schiller. 

BY GEOEGE W. BIEDSETE. 

Like a cloud of dread, 
Heavy and dead, 
Is the sound of their earnest anxious tread, 
As, with silent fife, and noiseless drum. 
O'er the plain of summer green they come. 
As far as the eye can see they spread. 
Each to take a haud in the wild iron game 
For the stakes of honor and deathless fame. 

N'ow Fear for a moment has birth. 

And, shrinking, tlieir eyes seek the earth, 
"While their hearts beat madly and prompt them to fly. 

But Fear must die ! — 
So in front, by the faces as pale as death, 
Now the General gallops with quickened breath : — 

" Halt ! " — And the regiments stand, 

Chained by the word of command. 
"Men! Like a stain on the morning light, 
"What taunts and defies us from yonder height ? 
See, 'tis the foerann's flaunting flag! " 

With throbbing hearts, and eyes aflame. 

From soldiers' souls the' answer came: — 
" Yes, 'tis the foeman's cursed flag ! " 
It shall fall, though in falling it cost us life I 
God be with you — cliildren and wife! 

Hark — the drum !— Hark — the fife ! — 

Through the ranks the summons pealing ; 

Eousing every noble feeling. 

Already Fear is dead, 

And rising in its stead, 
A patriot courage fires each votive band, 
Born of their love for home and native land I 
8^ 



178 VOICE AOT) ACTION. 

A prayer is wafted across the plain : 
" God grants my hrotJier, 
If not in this world^ that in another 

We meet again ! " 

Already dart War's lightning-flaslies ! 
The canaon-thunder booms and crashes ! 
ISTow they shudder, and shrink, 
And e'en brave hearts quiver, 
As they feel that they stand on the brink 

Of Death's river; — 
But a shout greets their ears: — " Liberty ! " 
And fled are their fears : — " Liberty ! " 
'Tis their watchword, and earnest and strong 
Once more are the hearts of each throng. 
As they pass that great watchword along. 
Whose very name makes the breast feel free : 

" Liberty ! " 
But Death — dark Death has his Liberty too ; 
And roams the ranks of the warriors through ! 
For the battle rages 
Through flery stages, 
And every spark of tlie soul engages ; 
And, through the awful mist and cloud, 
Enwrapt like a shroud 
Over friend — over foe. 
The iron dice the death-demons throw ! 

Close come the foemen for one dread embrace. 
" Keady ! " — That word blanches every face. 
Down on their knees drop the foremost men, 
Many, alas! ne'er to rise again. 
" Aim! "—Steady for your loved-ones' sakes ! 
" Fire ! " — What a gap the lead-stream makes ! 
Those behind leap over the corpses before, 
And the front is a solid mass once more. 

But reeling, and twirling. 

And right and left whirling, 
Now with ghastly grin, now with frightful frown, 
Dark Death in his dance treads the bravest down ! 



SELECTIONS. 179 

Quenched is the sun, but more fiery the fight. 
Over both armies broods the black night ; 
While the prayer of anguish bursts o'er the plain : 
" God grant, my Ir other ^ 
If not in tlm world, that in another 
We meet again ! " 

Blood — blood, the air is dense 
With the c;dor that sickens every sense. 
At each step there is a sucking sound, 
And blood — blood oozes from the ground. 
Living and dead lie in mingled mass ; 
And the eager, undaunted ones, as they pass, 
Over them stagger, and stumble, and fall ; 
And their feet slide and slip, 
Like a reeling ship, 
In the boiling blood that is over all. 
The dying ones, curst 
With a withering thirst. 
Cry, " Water, for God's sake ! — one drop — only one I " 
But water there's none ! — 
Only blood — hot blood from war's fountains run! 

Hither and thither sways the fight, 

Darker, and darker broods the night; 
And the prayer still rises from the plain : 

" God grant, my hrother, 

If not in this world, that in another 
We meet again.'''' 

Hark ! — Who rush galloping by ? 

The Adjutants fly ? 
The Dragoons bear down on the foe ! 

" Blow, bugles. Moid I " 
For the awful thunder and roar 
Of their cannon are heard no more. 

" Victory, 'brothers ! Victory ! " 
Terror bursts on the cowards all ; — 

^'' Euzza !'''' their colors fall ! 



l80 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Ended, at last, is the sharp-fouglit fight, 
And day flashes over the conquered night. 

Now no foul stains 

Our flag retains, — 
The flag of the faithful — the flag of the right ! 

Hark — the drum ! — hark — the fife ! — 
'^o longer a signal for strife ; 
But merrily — cheerily pealing, 
Eousing each thankful feeling, 
The wounds of sorrow healing, 
"Waking old joys to life. 
In their soul's rejoice 
All unite in one mighty voice, 
And the ranks along 
Burst forth in the glorious triumph song 

Of — " Victory ! Victory ! " — • 



But through hearts of joy shoot the throbs of pain. 
Oh the dead — the dead on the battle plain ! 

" Farewell^ fallen IrotJier ! 

We i:)art in this worlds hut in another 
We meet again!'''' 

THE BIETH OF EEIN. 

Wid all condescinsion, 

I'd turn yer attinshin. 
To what I would minshin iv Erin so green, 

And widhout hisitayshin, 

I'd show how dhat nayshin. 
Became iv creayshin the gim an' the queen. 

It happened wan mornin', 

"Widhout iny warnin'. 
That Yaynus was born in the beautiful say, 

An' be that same tokin', 

(An' shure 'twas provokin',) 
Her pinions war soakin,' an' wudn't give play. 

So Niptune who knew iier, 
Began to purshue her, 



SELECTIONS. 181 

In ortlher to woo her, the wicked owld foo', 

An' he very nigh caught her, 

A top iv the wather, 
Great Jupither's daughter, who cried " Poo-la-loo ! " 

Bud Jove, the great Jaynious, 

Looked down aa' saw Vaynous, 
An' N'ipiune so haynious purshuin' her woild, 

So he roared out in thundher 

He'd tare him assundher ; 
An' shure 'twas no wondher for tazing his choild. 

So a sthar dhat was fljin', 

Around him esp3in', 
He sazed widhout sighin*, an' hurled it belyow, 

Where it tumbled loike winkin', 

While Mptune was sinkin'. 
An' gave him, I'm thinkin', ' the hrath iv a Mow /* 

An' dhat sthar was dhryland. 

Both lowland and highland. 
An' form'd a swate island, the land iv my birth 1 

Thus plain is my shtory, 

Kase sint down from glory, 
Tliat Erin so hoary's a heaven upon earth. 

Thin Vaynus jumped nately, 

On Erin so shtately ; 
But faynted, kase lately so bothered, an' priss'd ; 

Which her much did bewildher ; 

But ere it had kill'd her, 
Her father diAtilld her a dhrop iv the bisht ! 

An that glass so victorious, 

It made her feel glorious, 
A little uproarious I fear it might prove, 

Hince how can yez blame us 

That Erin's so faymous 
For heauty, an'' murther, an'' whisTcey, an' love I 



182 VOICE AND ACTION. 



METAPHYSICS. 



One evening the old sitting-room at my Grandfather's 
became the scene of quite a curious and amusing conversa- 
tion. 

There was Dr. Sobersides, my Grandfather, Uncle Tim, 
Aunt Judy, Malachi, our hired man, and the schoolmaster, who 
had called in to wnrm his hands and get a drink of cider. 

Something was under discussion, and my Grandfather could 
mate nothing of it. 

" Pr;iy, Doctor," said Uncle Tim, ''tell me something about 
Metaphysics, I have often heard of that science but never for 
my life could make anything out of it." 

"Metaphysics," said the Doctor, "is the science of ab- 
stractions." 

"I am no wiser for that explanation." 

" It treats of matters most profound and sublime, a little 
difficult perhaps for a common intellect, or an unschooled capa- 
city to fathom, but not the less important on that account to all 
human beings." 

" What does it teach ? " said the schoolmaster. 

"It is not so much applied to the operation of teaching as 
to that of inquiring ; and the chief inquiry is, as to whether 
things are, or whether they are not." 

" I don't understand you," said Uncle Tim. 

" Well, take for example this earth," said the Doctor, setting 
his foot slap on the cat's tail. " Now the earth may exist — " 

" Who the dogs ever doubted that ? " 

" A great many men, and some very learned ones ; although 
Bishop Berkeley has proved beyond all possible gainsaying or 
denial that it does not exist. The case is clear ; the only 
thing is to know whether we sh;ill believe it or not." 

" That is a point of considerable consequence to settle,'* 
said my Grandfather. 

" Now the earth may exist — " 

" But how is all this to be found out? " 

"By digging down to the first principles," said the Doctor. 

"Ay," said Malachi, "there is nothing equal to the spade 



SELECTIONS. 183 

and pickaxe ; 'tis by digging that we can find out whether the 
world exists or not." 

" Tl)at is true, because if we dig to the bottom of the earth 
and find no foundation, then it is clenr that the world stands 
upon nothing; or in other words that it does not stand 
at all, therefore it stands to reason — " "Oh! I beg pardon, 
I use tlie word digging metaphorically, meaning the profound- 
est cogitation and research into the nature of things ; that is 
the way in which we may ascertain as to whether things are 
or whether they are not." 

"But," said Uncle Tim, "if a man can't believe his own 
eyes, what signifies talking about it ? " 

" Onr eyes are nothing but the inlets of sensation, and when 
we see anything, all we are aware of is, that we have a sensation 
of it ; we are sure of nothing that we see with our eyes." 

" Not without spectacles," said Aunt Judy. "Plat) main- 
tains sensation of an object — " 

"In common cases," said Uncle Tim, "those who utter 
Qonsense are considered blockheads." 

" But in Metaphysics it is entirely different." " N"ow all 
this is hocus-pocus to me. I don't understand a bit more of 
the matter than I did at first." 

" As I was saying, Plato maintains sensation of an object 
is produced by a succes-^ion of images or counterfeits stream- 
ing off from the object to the organs of sight. Again we have 
it explained upon the principles of w^hirligigs." 

" No doubt of that ; but when a man gets through doubt- 
ing, what does he begin to build upon in the metaphysical 
way ? " said my grandfather. 

" "Why, he begins by taking something for granted." 

" But is that a sure way of going to work ? " 

"Why — it — is — the only thing he can do, — Metaphysics, to 
speak exactly — " 

" That's right," said the schoolmaster, "bring it down to 
the science of abstractions and then we shall understand it." 

" 'Tis the consideration of immateriality or the mere spirit 
and essence of things." 

"Come, come, now I begin to understand it," said Aunt 
Judy. 



184 VOICE AKD ACTION. 

" Thus man is considered, not only in liis corporeality, but 
in his essence, or capability of being ; for a man, metaphysically, 
or to metaphysical purposes, hath two natures." 

" What man ? " 

" Why any man. Malaclii there, for example : I may take 
Malachi as Malachi spiritual, or, Malachi corporeal." 

" That is true^ for when I was in the Militia I was made a 
corporal and carried grog to the drummer." 

" Oh ! That is quite a different affair. When we speak of 
essence, we mean the essence of locality, the essence of dura- 
tion—" 

"And the essence of Peppermint? " 

" The essence I mean is quite a different affair." 

" Something too fine to be dribbled through the worm of 
a still." 

" There we go again. I declare I'm all in the dark." 

" It is a thing that has no matter; that is, that it cannot be 
felt, heard, smelt, or tasted. It has no substance nor solidity, 
large nor small, hot nor cold, long nor short." 

" Then what is the long and the short of it ? " 

" Abstraction ! " 

" Well, Doctor, what do you say to a pitchfork as an ab- 
straction ? " 

" A pitchfork would mean none in particular, but one in 
general, and would be a thing in abstraction." 

" It would be a thing in the haymow." 

" Doctor, have many such things been discovered ? " 

" Discovered ! why all things, whether in Heaven, or on the 
earth, or in the waters under the earth, all may be considered 
abstractions." 

" Indeed ! well what do you think of a red cow for an 
example ? " 

" A red cow, considered as an abstraction, would be an 
animal possessing neither hide nor horns, bones nor flesh ; it 
would have no color at all, for its redness would be the mere 
counterfeit or imagination of such. It would neither go to 
pasture, chew cud, give milk, nor do anything of a like 
nature." "A dog's foot — all the metaphy.dcs under the sun 
wouldn't make a pound of butter." 



SELECTIOXS. 185 

" That's a fact," said Uncle Tim, and here the conversation 
ended. 

E PLURIBrS UNUM. 

Though many and bright are the stars that appear 

In the flag of our country unfurl'd; 
And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there, 

Like a rainbow adorning the world ; 
Their lights are unsullied as those in the sky, 

By a deed that our fathers have done, 
And they 're leagued in as true and holy a tie, 

In their motto of " Many in oneP 

From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flung 

That banner of starlight abroad, 
Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung, 

As they clung to the promise of God ; 
By the bayonet trac'd at the midnight of war, 

On the fields where our glory was won 
Oh ! perish the hand, or the heart that would mar 

Our motto of ''''Many in one.'''' 

'Mid the smoke of the contest, the cannon's deep roar. 

How oft it hath g:ithered renown; 
While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore. 

When the cross and the lion went down. 
And tho' few were the lights in the gloom of that hour. 

Yet the hearts that were striking below, 
Had God for their bulwark, and truth for their power, 

And stopped not to number their foe. 

The oppress'd of the earth to that standard shall fly, 

Wherever its folds shall be spread ; 
And the exile shall feel 'tis his own native sky, 

Where its stars shall float over his head; 
And those stars shaU increase till the fullness of time 

Its millions of cycles has run ; 
Divide as we may in our own native land. 

To the rest of the world we are one. v 



186 VOICE AND ACTION. 

Then up with our flag ! let it stream on the air, 

Tliough onr fathers are cold in their graves; 
They had arms that could strike, they had souls that could 
dare, 

And their sons were not born to be slaves ! 
Up, up with that banner where'er it may call, 

Our millions shall rally around ; 
A nation of freemen that moment shall fall. 

When its stars shall be trailed on the ground. 

Capt. Outlee. 



VENTEILOQTJISM. 

This is a faculty long supposed to have existed only with 
the few, considered by the multitude as especially gifted. The 
principles of Elocution prove that it can be acquired. As a 
general thing, we have neither necessity nor occasion to use 
the voice in the manner in which it is produced. Most per- 
sons, in former times, have actually believed that the voice 
left the body of the operator, and was thrown or '■'■ casV in 
various directions, at will. This is impossible, and yet, with 
all it-^ absurdity, it is diflicult to convince many, even at the 
present day, to the contrary. 

It is only in seeming that the sound comes from any indi- 
cated direction ; it is merely a concentration or suppression of 
the voice within the lungs which gives the appearance of dis- 
tance to sound thus produced. To practice ventriloquism 
effectively, it is necessary to begin with simple sounds, making 
them from the depth of the lungs. Take the vowels first, 
then the explosives ; render them clear and full. After the 
voice is well established, as coming from the lungs, and not 
on the hps, and about the throat, then shut the teeth and 
endeavor to give the sounds in the mouth ; having it rounded 
and arched, to give greater resonance. 

Finally, close the lips compactly over the teeth, and give 
the sounds, as before, from the lungs : be sure of full and deep 
breathing first. To make the sounds very faint, to represent 
extreme distance, compress the muscles of the throat closely 
together, and thus prevent the sound from too audibly escap- 



VENTRILOQUISM. 187 

ing. Practice these sounds in every variety of manner until 
under complete control ; and then let ingenuity devise as to 
language and characters suitable to experiments in. this de- 
partnie.it of vocal science. It is very simple, and only requires 
practice to excel in it. Almost any person can acquire it who 
has ordinary good vocal organs. It is speaking from the lungs 
rather than from the lips and throat. It is capital practice for 
the voice to acquire this peculiar command over the lungs. 

SOEE'E. 

Hav-e a dox, supposed to ie a hotel, Peter, the landlord, icitJiin. 

OPERATOE AND PETEE. 

Operator, {Knocks on the l)ox). Peter ! halloo ! Peter ! 
Qtause). He sleeps very sound — {to audience). Peter! {hnoclcs), 
Halloo! Peter! 

Peter. {Inside.) Halloo, there ! what do you want ? 

Op. I want to come in. 

Pet. No, no, I don't want you in here. 

Op. If you don't open tliis door, I'll knock your sign down. 

Pet. If you do, I'll knock you down. 

Op. Well, Peter, there are some ladies out here that wish 
to see you. 

Pet. No, they d.m't. 

Op. Yes, they do. 

Pet. Well, I know they don't. 

Op. Well, are you coming out? 

Pet. No, I won't. 

Op. Well, then, I'll open the door. {Lifts the cover of the 
box.) 

Pet. {SpeaTcing louier, as the dox is opened.) Shut down 
the door. 

Op. {Shuts it down.) 

Pet. { Voice as lefore.) I don't want to come out there. 

Op. Well, have you the keys of the wine-cellar? 

Pet. No, I hain't. 

Op. Who has, then? 

Pet. Jack has 'em. 



188 VOICE AND ACTION. 

O}^. "Where is Jack ? 

Pet. Under the table. 

Op, IJiider the tuble, is he ? 

Pet. Yes, he is. 

Op. (Loolcs under the tdble^ lifting the cloth.) Jack, holloa 
there ! 

JacTc. {Under the table^ in a gruff voice.) What do you 
want? 

Op. I would like to come in. 

Jaclc. Well, why don't you come in ? 

Op. Have you the keys of the wine-cellar? 

Jach. No, I haven't. 

Op. {Goes to 'box.) Jack says he has not the keys. 

Pet. Well, I have n't 'em. 

Op. {Goes to the table.) Well, Jack, have you any good 
champagne? 

Jach. Yes ; here, hold your glass. {Imitates popping the 
corlcfrom a bottle.) 

Op. Well, that is nice ; have you any more ? 

Jaclc. Oh, yes; hold your glass. {Pops another.) 

Op. Well, good-night. 

Jaclc. Good-night! come again when you can't stay so long. 

Op. {Again to box.) Peter, the ladies do wish to see you. 

Pet. No they don't. 

Op. Well, what is the reason you are not coming out? 

Pet. I haven't got on my boots yet. 

Op. I '11 wait a moment. {Pauses.) Have you put on 
your boots ? 

Pet. Yes, I have on my boots. 

Op. Well, Avhat is the reason you are not coming out? 

Pet. I haven't put on my stockings yet. 

Op. Ha! ha! ha! Why, I generally put on mine first. 

Pet. Well, I don't. 

Op. Why, how do you put them on ? 

Pet. Over my boots, of course. 

Op. Come, Peter, now open this door. 

Pet. I won't ; no, no ; go 'long off. 

Op. If you don't let me in, I '11 catch one of your chickens, 
and put him in there. 



VENTEILOQUIS:\r. 189 

Pet. iNTo, no, now don't ; you let my chickens alone. 

Op. Will you let nie in, then ? 

Fet. ISTo, I won't. 

Op. Well then, I'll catch one. {Imitates the peeping of a 
chicken^ pretends to catch it and throw it in.) 

Pet. Take 'im out! take 'im out! 

Op. Will you open the door ? Will you open the door if 
I '11 take it out ? 

Pet. Yes, I will. 

Op. {Opens the cover.) 

Pet. That's right; take him out; take him out. 

Op. {TaTces out chicken^ peeping^ Now open the door. 

Pet. No, I won't. 

Op, You promised to. 

Pet. I don't care if I did. 

Op. Now, I am determined to empty you out. 

Pet. No, no, now don't. 

Op. Yes, I will. Here you go. {Tarns over the lax, with 
Peter struggling to keep in it.) 

Pet. {Loud voice.) No, no, now don't. 

Op. Yes, I will ; here you go. {Empties hox.) Where are 
you? I did not see you come out! 

Pet. {Beneath the Jloor). I 'm 'way down in the cellar, yon 
old fool! 

Op. Good-night to you. 

Pet. {Very faint., as if still further off .) Good-night. 



190 VOICE AND ACTION. 

THE OLD CHAPEL BELL. 

"Within a churchyard's sacred ground, 

Whose fading tahlets tell 
Where they who built the village church 

In solemn silence dwell, 
Half hidden in the earth, there lies 

An ancient chapel bell. 

Broken, decayed and covered o'er 
With mouldering leaves and rust; 

Its very name and date concealed 
Beneath a cankering rust; 

Forgotten — like its early friends, 
Who sleep in neighboring dust. 

Yet it was once a trusty bell, 

Of most sonorous lung. 
And many a joyous wedding peal, 

And many a knell had rung, 
'Ere Time had cracked its brazen sides 

And broke its tongue. 

And many a youthful heart had danced 

In merry Christmas-time, 
To hear its pleasant roundelay, 

Eung out in ringing rhyme ; 
And many a worldly thought been checked 

To list its Sabbath chime. 

A youth — a bright and happy boy, 

One sultry summer's day. 
Aweary of his bat and ball. 

Chanced hitherward to stray, 
To read a little book he had 

And rest him from his play. 

*' A soft and shady spot is this ! " 

The rosy youngster cried, 
And sat him down, beneath a tree, 

That ancient Bell beside ; 
(But, h'dden in the tangled grass, 

The Bell he ne'er espied.) 



SELECTIONS. 191 

Anon, M mist fell on liis book, 

The letters seemed to stir, 
And though, full oft, his flagging sight 

The hoy essayed to spur. 
The mazy page was quickly lost 

Beneath a cloudy blur. 

And while he marvelled much at this, 

And wondered how it came, 
He felt a languor creeping o'er 

His young and weary frame, 
And heard a voice, a gentle voice, 

That plainly spoke his name. 

That gentle voice that named his name, 

Entranced him like a spell, 
Upon his ear, so very near 

And suddenly it fell ; 
Tet soft 'and musical, as 'twere 

The whisper of a bell. 

" Since last I spoke," the voice began, — 

"Seems many a dreary year I 
(Albeit, 'tis only since thy birth 

I've lain neglected here ;) 
Pray list, while I rehearse a tale 

Behooves thee much to hear. 

" Once, from yon ivied tower, I watched 

The villagers, around. 
And gave to all their joys and griefs, 

A sympathetic sound. 
But most are sleeping, now, within 

This consecrated ground. 

" I used to ring my merriest peal 

To hail the blushing bride ; 
I sadly tolled for men cut down 

In strength and manly pride ; 
And solemnly, — not mournfully, — 

When little children died. 



192 VOICE AND ACTION. 

" But, cLief, my duty was to bid 

The villagers repair, 
On each returning Sabbath niorn, 

Unto the House of Prayer, 
And in his own appointed place, 

The Saviour's mercy share. 

*' Ah ! well I mind me of a child, 

A gleesome, happy maid, 
"Who came with constant steps to church 

In comely garb arrayed. 
And knelt her down full solemnly, 

And penitently prayed. 

*' Years rolled away, — and I beheld 
The child to woman grown ; 

Her cheek was fairer, and her eye 
With brighter lustre shone ; 

But childhood's truth and innocence 
"Were still the maiden's own. 

" I never , rang a merrier peal, 
Than when, a joyous bride, 

She stood beneath the sacred porch, 
A noble youth beside. 

And plighted him her maiden troth, 
In maiden love and pride. 

" I never tolled a deeper knell, 
Than when, in after years, 

They laid her in the churchyard here, 
Where this low mound appears — 

(The very grave, my boy, that you 
Are watering now with tears.") 

The boy awoke, as from a dream. 
And, thoughtful, looked around, 

But nothing saw, save at his feet 
His mother's lowly mound. 

And by its side that ancient Bell, 
Half hidden in the ground. 



SELECTIONS. 193 



THE FEEITCHMAN AND THE FLEA POWDEE. 

A Frenchman once — so runs a certain dittj — 
Had crossed the Straits to famous London citj, 
To get a living by the arts of France, 
And teach his neighbor, rough John Bull, to dance. 
But lacking pupils, vain was all his skill ; 
His fortunes sank from low to lower still, 
Until at last, pathetic to relate. 
Poor Monsieur landed at starvation's gate. 
Standing, one day, beside a cook-shop door, 
And gazing in, with aggravation sore. 
He mused within himself what he should do 
To fill his empty maw, and pocket too. 
By nature shrewd, he soon contrived a plan, 
And thus to execute it straight began : 
A piece of common brick he quickly found, 
And with a harder stone to powder ground, 
Then wrapped the dust in many a dainty piece 
Of paper, labelled " Poison for de Fleas," 
And sallied forth, his roguish trick to try. 
To show his treasures, and to see who'd buy. 
From street to street he cried, with lusty yell, 
"Here's grand and sovereign flee poudare to sell! " 
And fickle Fortune seemed to smile at last. 
For soon a woman hailed him as he passed, 
Struck a quick bargain with him for the lot, 
And made him five crowns richer on the spot. 
Our wight, encouraged by this ready sale, 
Went into business on a larger scale, 
And soon throughout all London scattered he 
The " only genuine poudare for de flea." 
Engaged, one morning, in his new vocation 
Of mingled boasting and dissimulation, 
He thought he heard himself in anger called; 
And, sure enough, the self-same woman bawled, 
In not a mild or very tender mood, 
From the same window wh^e before she stood. 
9 



194 VOICE AND ACTION. 

"He}', there! " said she, "you Monsher Powder-man I 

Escape my clutches now, sir, if you can ! 

I'll let you dirty thieving Frenchmen know, 

That decent people won't be dieated so," 

Then spoke Monsieur, and heaved a saintly sigh, ' 

With humble atritude and tearful eye. 

" Ab, Madam ! s'il vous plait, attendez-vous — 

I vill dis leetle ting explain to you. 

My poudare gran ! magnifique ! why abuse him ? 

Aha ! I show you Tioic to use Mm. 

First, you must wait until you mtcli defiea; 

Den, tickle he on the petite rib, you see ; 

And when he laugh — ah.i ! he ope his throat ; 

Den 'pote de poudare down !' — Begae ! he choke. 



PAT AND HIS MUSKET. 

I've heard a good joke of an Emerald Pat, 

Who kept a few brains and a brick in liis hat. 

He was bound to go hunting ; so, taking his gun, 

He rammed down a charge — tliis was load number one ; 

Then put in the priming, and when all was done, 

By way of experiment, thought be would try. 

And see if, percliance, he might hit the "bull's-eye." 

He straighten'd himself till he made a good figure, 

Took deliberate aim, and then pulled the trigger. 

Click! went the hammer, but notldng exploded; 

" And sure," muttered Paddy, " the gun isn't loaded I " 

So down w-ent another charge, just as before. 

Unless this contained just a grain or two more; 

Once more he got ready, and took a good aim. 

And pulled on the trigger — effect quite the same. 

*' I wonder can this be still shootin' ? " said Pat; 

" I put down a load now I'm certain of that ; 

I'll try it again, and then we shall see ! " 

So down went the cartridge of load number three 1 

Then trying again with a confident air. 

And succeeding no b. tter, gave up in despair. 



SELECTIONS. 195 

Just at that moment he happened to spy 

His friend Michael Milligan hurrying by. 

*' noho, Mike ! come here, and just try on my gun: 

I've been tryin' to shoot till Tm tired and done ! " 

So Mike took the gun, and pricked up the powder, 

Eemarking to Pat, " it would make it go louder ; " 

Then placing it firmly against his right arm, 

And never suspecting it might do him harm, 

He pointed the piece in the proper direction, 

And pulled on the trigger without more reflection — 

When off went the gun! like a country election, 

And Michael " went off" in another direction! 

" Hold on ! " shouted Pat, " hold on to the gun ! 

I put in three loads, and you've fired off but one I 

Get up, and be careful, don't hold it so livel, 

Or else we are both of us gone to the divil ! " 

" Pm going," says Michael, " it's right that I wint, 

I've got myself kicked, and it's time for the hint." 

MULEOONET. 

" Mulrooney, come here ; I want you to put about two double- 
hands-full of bran into a bucket of warm water, and after stir- 
ring the mixture well to give it to the black fillies. That's 
what we call a bran mash in this country. Now do you un- 
derstand me?" " Good luck to yer honor, and what 'ud I be 
good for if I didn't? an' shure its the ould counthry mash af- 
ther all." 

" I thought as much, so now away with you and be sure 
you don't make any mistake." 

" 'Tisn't at all likely I'll do that, sir ; but about the warm 
wather and thenagur, shall I tell her 'tis yer 'onor's ordhers ?" 

" Certainly ! " Away he went. About ten minutes after, 
Mrs. Stanley entering the room remarked, " I do wish you 
would go into the kitchen. I am afraid there is something 
wrong between that Irishman and Phillis ; they are quarrel- 
ling about orders he says you gave him." 

'' Oh ! it is nothing, my dear, I sent Mulrooney into the 
kitchen to get some water that he might feed the horses, and 



196 VOICE AND ACTION. 

I presume PMllis has refused to let him have any." x\ll at once 
we heard a distant crash like sound of plates and dishes. 
Mrs. Stanley started in alarm. " Do go and see what the niat- 
ter is, I am sure there is something wrong, that Irishman will 
be the death of Phillis one of these days." I now passed 
through the hall, and as I approached, the noise increased. 
First of all came the shrill voice of Phillis, " Ha' dun, I say ; 
I tell ye I won't hab nuffin to do wid de stuff no way ; go way, 
you poor white trash ; I tell yer I won't." 

" Yer stupid an' contrary old nagur, don't I tell ye tish the 
master's ordhers ? " 

" Tain't no such thing, I tell yer I won't; who eber heerd 
of a cullerd wooman a-takin' a bran mash afore, Pd like to 
know ? " 

" You haythin ould nagur, don't I tell ye 'tish the masther's 
ordhers ? " 

" Taint no such thing, I'll call missus, dat I will." 

I thought the joke had proceeded 'ar enough, so I flung open 
the door. The floor was strewn with broken dishes, tables 
were overturned, and in the midst was Phillis seated on 
a broken chair sputtering and gasping as Mulrooney had at 
this moment seized her. Her head was under his left arm 
while with his right he was conveying a tin-cup of the wurm 
bran-mash to her up turned mouth. "An' sure, sir, what'ud 
I be doin' but given' black Phillis the bran mash accordin' to 
yer orders ? " " Oh ! you stupid Irishman." 

He walked away muttering, "An' if they calls horses 
Phillis, an' Phillis horses, I'd like to know how I'm ever to 
find out the difference." 



EAELY EisiNG. — JoJiu G. Saxe. 

" God bless the man that first invented sleep I " 
So Sancho Panza said, and so say I ; 

And bless him, also, that he didn't keep 
His great discoveiy to himself ; or try 

To make it — as the lucky fellow might — 
A close monopoly by " patent right ! " 



SELECTIONS. 197 

Yes — bless the man who first invented sleep, 

(I really can't avoid the iteration ;) 
But blast the man with curses loud and deep, 

Whatever the rascal's name, or age or station, 
"Who first invented, and went round advising 

That artificial cut-oti:' — early rising ! 

" Eise with the lark, and with the lark to bed;" 
Observes some solemn, sentimental owl. 

Maxims like these are very cheaply said ; 
But e'er you make yourself a fool or fowl, 

Pray, just inquire about the rise — and fall, 
And whether larks have any bed at all. 

The " time for honest folks to be in bed," 

Is in the morning, if I re.ison right ; 
And he who cannot keep his precious head 

Upon his pillow till 'tis fairly light. 
And so enjoy his forty morning winks. 

Is up to knavery • or else — he drinks ! 

Thomson, who sung about the " Seasons," said 
It was a glorious thing to rise in season ; 

But then he said it; — lying — in his ted 
At 10 o'clock A. M. — the very reason 

He wrote so charmingly ! The simple foct is, 
His preaching wasn't sanctioned by his practice. 

'Tis, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake — 

Awake to duty, and awake to truth— 
But when, alas ! a nice review we take 

Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth, 
The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep. 

Are those we passed in childhood, or — asleep. 

'Tis beautiful to leave the world awhile, 
For the soft visions of the gentle night ; 

And free, at last, from mortal care or gnile, 
To live, as only in the angel's sight. 

In sleep's sweet realm so easily shut in, 
Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin. 



198 VOICE AND ACTION. 

So let us sleep, and give the maker praise. 

I like the lad who, when his father thought 
To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase 

Of vagrant worm by early songster caught, 
Cried, " Served him right ! it's not at all surprising; 

The worm was punished, sir, for early rising ! " 



SHORT EXTRACTS ARRANGED FOR 
SPEAKING. 



ELOQUENCE. 

"With gifts which raise man far above the brute crea- 
tion, God has coupled powers of expression which are equally 
pre-eminent, and without which, those gifts would have been 
all but useless. But, until duly trained, they are crude, irregu- 
lar, and impulsive. As an art, eloquence would cultivate all 
the capacities of the soul with reference to its own specific 
object. It teaches how the orator is to deal with his powers, 
and by what means he is to train them to their perfect matu- 
aity ; how he is to discipline judgment, enrich and yet chasten 
imagination, refine taste, and strengthen those generous senti- 
ments which assure him access to the hearts of others. It 
aims to give him, too, a high idea of the power and dignity of 
his art, and to inspire him with an ambition for its greatest 
achievments. AU this is inculcated, not in precept merely, but 
by noble examples of the art, and also by frequent exercises ; 
and when, by such means, the faculties of the orator are un- 
folded, this art strives to subject them to his complete control, 
so that, when he bids, they shall come forth obediently, and do 
their appropriate work. The eloquence of the uncultivated is 
called forth by occasions and emergencies. It is not at com- 



SHORT EXTEACTS. 199 

mand. "WTien wanted, tliey are not always at hand ; and when 
drawn forth by circumstances, they often transport him be- 
yond the mark. But the eloquence of the trained and culti- 
vated speaker is a power, though often dormant, yet always 
ready for use : when summoned it comes, though there be no 
favoring circumstances. It can speak even to reluctant ears, 
and compel an audience to listen. Neglected and despised 
truths it can invest with majesty, such that they shall bow 
men's hearts : and a taste, however fastidious or hypercritical, 
if just, it can satisfy and delight. 



THE PUEIFYIiTG USTFLUEiTOE OF POETRY. 

Poetry, far from injuring society, is one of the great instru- 
ments of its refinement and ex;dtation. It lifts the mind above 
ordinary life, gives it a respite from depressing cares, and 
awakens the consciousness of its affinity with what is pure 
and noble. In its legitimate and highest eiiorts, it has the same 
tendency and aim with religion, — that is, to spiritualize our 
nature. True, poetry has been made the in trument of vice, 
the pander of bad passions : but when genius thus stoops, it 
dims its fires, and parts with much of its power ; and when 
poetry is enslaved to licentiousness and mis:mthropy, she can- 
not wholly forget her true vocation. Strains of pure feeling, 
touches of tendeaiess, images of innocent happiness, sympa- 
thies with what is good in our nature, bursts of scorn and in- 
dignation at the hoUowness of the world, passages true to our 
moral nature, often escape in an immoral work, and show us 
how hard it is for a gifted spirit to divorce itself wholly from 
what is good. Poetry has a natural alliance with our best af- 
fections. It delights in the beauty and sublimity of outward 
nature and of the soul. It indeed portrays with terrible energy 
the excesses of the passions ; but they are passions which show a 
mighty nature, which are full of power, which command, awe, 
and excite a deep, though shuddering sympathy. Its great ten- 
dency and purpose is to carry the mind beyond and above the 
beaten, dusty, weary walks of ordinary life ; to lift it into a purer 
element, and to breathe into it more profound and generous emo- 



200 VOICE AND ACTION. 

tion. This power of poetry to refine our views of life and happi- 
ness is more and more needed as society advances. It is needed 
to withstand the encroachments of heartless and artificial man- 
ners, which m-ike civilization so tame and uninteresting, and 
as men multiply bodily comforts, to prevent them from sinking 
into an earthly, material, epicurean life. 

SHAKSPEAKE. 

Shakespeare, by general concession, is the greatest name in 
literature. Such various, f^nd at the same time, such exalted pow- 
ers, probably never met together in the mind of any otlier human 
being. "Whether we regard the kind or degree of his faculties, 
he not only is, but is everywhere allowed to be, the prodigy 
of our race. Of the various excellencies of literary production, 
whether as a think.-r or a speaker, in none has he a superior, 
in many he has no equal, in some he has scarcely a competitor. 
He is emphatically the eye, tongue, heart of humanity, and has 
given voice and utteranc' to whatever we are, and whatever we 
see. On all scores, indeed, he is the finest piece of work human 
nature has yet achieved ; in the whole catalogue of uninspired 
men, there is no other name that could not better be spared. 

In vital powers, Shakspeare's mind seems as inexhaustible 
as nature is in the materials for their embodiment. For 
boundless variety and perfect individuality of character, he is 
quite proverbial. All his characti-rs, from the least to the 
greatest, numerous as they are, stand out in tlie most intense 
individual life, perfectly rounded in with the dit^tinctness of 
actual persons, so that we know them as well and remember 
them as distinctly as we do our most intimate friends ; and 
whether the development of them be concentrated into a few 
lines, or extended through a whole play, it seems free alike 
from deficiency and from redundancy, so that nothing can be 
added or taken away without injuring the effect. For aught 
that we can see, he might have gone on until now, had he lived 
so long, creating characters just as vital, as original, as indi- 
vidual, as any he has given us. He seems, indeed, to have 
wanted nothing but length of days, to have rivalled nature 
herself in the number as well as the truth of his characters. 



SHORT EXTEACTS. 201 

THE RUSSIAl^ CAMPAIGN. 

By the irretrievable disasters of the Russian campaign, the 
empire of the world was effectually placed beyond the grasp of 
Napoleon. The tide of conquest had ebbed, never to return. 
He was no longer the Invincible. The weight of military 
power which had kept down the spirit of nations was removed, 
and their long-smothered sense of wrong and insult broke 
forth like the fires of a volcano. Bonaparte might still, per- 
haps, have secured the throne of France, but that of Europe 
was gone. This, however, he did not, could not, would not 
understand. He had connected with himself too obstinately 
the character of the world's master, to be able to relinquish 
it. Amidst the dark omens which gathered round him, he 
still saw, in his past wonderful escapes, and in his own exagge- 
rated energies, the means of rebuilding his fallen power. To a 
mind which has placed its whole happiness in having no equal, the 
thought of descending to the level even of Kings is intolerable. 
Napoleon's mind had been stretched by such ideas of universal 
empire, that France, though reaching from the Rhine to the 
Pyrenees, seemed narrow to him. He could not be shut up in 
it. Accordingly, as his fortunes darkened, we see no signs of 
relenting. He could not wear, he said, " a tarnished crown," 
that is, a crown no brighter than those of Austria and Russia. 
He continued to use a master's tone. He showed no change, 
but such as opposition works in the obstinate ; he lost his tem- 
per and grew sour. He heaped reproaches on his generals and 
the legislative body. It is a striking example of retribution 
that the very vehemence and sternness of his will, which had 
borne him onward to dominion, now drove him to the rejec- 
tion of terms which might have left him a formidable power, 
and thus made his ruin entire. Thus fell Napoleon. 



ENTHUSIASM. 

Enthusiasm in its highest condition is that ecstasy of mind, 
that lively transport of the soul, which is excited by the pur- 
suit or contemplation of some great and noble object, the 
9* 



202 VOICE AND ACTION-. 

novelty of which awakens attention, the truth of which fixes 
the understanding, and the grandeur of which, by firing the 
fancy, engages the aid of every passion, and prompts the mind 
to the liighest undertakings. A just and rightly formed en- 
tliusiasm is founded in reason, and s*ipported by nature, and 
carries the mind above its ordinary level, into the unexplored 
regions of art and science. The rational enthusiast, indeed, 
rises to an elevation so far above the distinct view of vulgar 
eyes, that common understandings are apt to treat him either 
with blind admiration, or cool contempt, only because they 
are incapable of comprehending his real character ; and while 
some bow to him as an extraordinary genius. The powers 
of enthusiasm, however, when founded upon proper principles, 
so strengthen and invigorate the faculties of the mind, as to 
enable it to resist danger undismayed, and to surmount diffi- 
culties that appear irresistible. Those, indeed, who have 
possessed themselves of this power to any extraordinary de- 
gree, have been considered as inspired, and their great achieve- 
ments conceived to have been directed by councils, and sus- 
tained by energies of a divine or supermundane nature. Cer- 
tain it is, we owe to the spirit of enthusiasm whatever is great 
in art, sublime in science, or noble in the human character. 



THE YANITY OF MAK 

"What an insignificant being does man appear, when he 
compares himself with the magnificence of creation, and with 
the myriads of exalted intelligences with which it is peopled ! 
What are all the honors and splendors of this earthly ball, of 
which mortals are so proud, when placed in competition with 
the resplendent glories of the sky ! What is there in the situa- 
tion of man that should inspire him with lofty looks, and in- 
duce him to look down on his fellow-men with supercilious 
contempt ? He derived his origin from the dust, he is allied 
with the beasts that perish, and he is fast hurrying to the grave, 
where his body will become the food of noisome reptiles. 
He is every moment depending on a superior Being for every 
pulse that beats, and every breath he draws, and for all that 



SHOKT EXTRACTS. 203 

he possesses ; he is dependent even on the meanest of his 
species for his accommodations and comforts. He holds every 
enjoyment on the most precarious tenure, — his friends may he 
snatclied in a moment from his embrace ; his riches may take 
to themselves wings and fly away ; and his health and beauty 
may he blasted in an hour, by a breath. His knowledge is circum- 
scribed within the narrowest limits, his errors and follies are 
glaring and innumerable, and he stands as an almost undis- 
tinguishable atom amidst the immensity of God's works. 
Still, with all these powerful inducements to the exercise of 
humility, man dares to be prond and arrogant. 

How affecting to behold all ranks, from the highest to the 
lowest, big with an idea of their own importance, and fired 
■with pride and revenge at the least provocation, whether 
imaginary or real ! How inconsistent the manifestations of 
such tempers, with the many humiliating circumstances of our 
present condition, and with the low rank which we hold in 
the scale of universal being. 

PLATO. 

A grasp and a capacity of mind the most astonishing — a 
spirit inquisitive and scrutinizing — subtlety painfully acute — a 
comprehensiveness which could embrace with equal ease the 
smallest and most lofty knowledge — a suppleness which, with 
almost incredible facility, could descend from the deepest ab- 
straction to the commonest topics of the world — a temper 
■which, in the heat of disputation, could preserve the most per- 
fect self-possession, and tlirow into disqnisirions, which must 
have been the result of long study, solitude, and profound 
meditation, all the graces of society and the qualifying embel- 
lishments of the most perfect good-breeding — these are the 
qualities which seem to have been inherent in the mind of 
Plato, and with these he has accordingly endowed the person 
whom he in general selected for the organ of conve} ing their 
joint sentiments to the world. 

To Plato, the past, the present, and the future seem alike; 
he has amassed in himself all the knowledge of the first, he 
paints the present to tlie life, and, by some wonderful instinct, 



204 VOICE AND ACTION. 

he has given dark hints, as if the most important events which 
were to happen after his time had not been wholly hidden 
from his sight. Less scientific in the arrangement of his 
materials than his great scholar, he has infinitely more variety, 
more spirit, more beauty, evincing, at every step, that it was 
in his own choice to become the most profound of philoso- 
phers, the most pointed of orators, or the most sublime of 
poets, or, by a skilful combination of all, to form such a char- 
acter as the world had never yet seen, nor was ever after to 
witness. 

AMUSEMENTS. 

An inordinate love of amusement tends to degrade all the 
powers of the understanding. It is the eternal Jaw of nature, 
that truth and wisdom are the ofispring of labor, of vigor, and 
perseverance in every worthy object of pursuit. The eminent 
stations of fame, accordingly, and the distinguished honors of 
knowledge, have, in every age, been the reward only of such 
attainments, of that cherished elevation of mind which pursues 
only magnificent ends, and of that heroic fortitude which, 
whether in action or in speculation, pursues them by the 
means of undeviating exertion. 

The mighty instructor, experience, may show you in every 
rank of life what these effects are. It will show you men 
born with every capacity, and whose first years glow^ed v%iih 
every honorable ambition, whom no vice even now degrades, 
and to whom no actual guilt is affixed, who yet live in the eye 
of the world only as the objects of pity or of scorn — who, in 
the idle career of habitual amusement, have dissipated all their 
powers and lost all their ambition — and who exist now for no 
purpose but to be the sad memorials of ignoble taete and de- 
graded understanding. The great duties of life, the duties for 
which every man is born, demand, in all situations, the mind 
of labor and perseverance. 

We may see around us everywhere the fatal effects of un- 
restrained pleasure ; the young sickening in the midst of every 
pure and genuine enjoyment; the mature hastening, with hope- 
less step, to fill up the hours of a vitiated being. 



SHOUT EXTRACTS. 205 

Think, with the elevation and generosity of your age, 
whether this is the conr?e that ler.ds to honor and fame ; 
whether it was in this discipline that they were exercised who, 
in every age, have blessed or enlightened the world, whose 
shades are present to your midnight thoughts — whose nnmes 
you cannot pronounce without the tear of gratitude or ad- 
miration. 

ON" THE PLEASURE OF ACQUIRING KNOWLEDGE. 

In every period of life, the acquisition of knowledge is one 
of the most pleasing employments of the human mind. But 
in youth, there are circumstances which make it productive 
of higher enjoyment. It is then that everything has the charm 
of novelty ; that curiosity and fancy are awake ; and that the 
heart swells with the anticipations of future eminence and 
utility. Even in those lower branches of instruction which 
we call mere accomplishments, there is something always 
pleasing to the young in their acquisition. They seem to be- 
come every well-educated person ; they adorn, if they do not 
dignify, humanity ; and, what is far more, while they give an 
elegant employment to the hours of leisure and relaxation, 
they afford a means of contributing to the purity and inno- 
cence of domestic life. 

But in the acquisition of knowledge of the higher kind in 
the hours when the young gradually begin the study of the 
laws of nature, and of the faculties of the human mind, or of 
the magnificent revelations of the gospel — there is a pleasure 
of a sublimer nature ; and, while they see, for the first time 
the immensity of the universe of God, and mark the majestic 
simplicity of those laws by which its operations are conducted, 
they feel as if they were awakened to a higher species of be- 
ing, and admitted into nearer intercourse with the Author of 
Nature. 

To feel no joy in such pursuits, to listen carelessly to the 
voice which brings such magnificent instruction, to see the 
veil raised which conceals the counsels of the Deity, and to 
show no emotion at the discovery, are symptoms of a weak 
and torpid spirit — of a mind unworthy of the advantages it 



206 VOICE AND ACTION. 

possesses, and fitted only for the Immility of sensual and ig- 
noble pleasure. Of those, on the contrary, who distinguish 
themselves by the love of knovp'ledge, who follow with ardor 
the career that is open to them, we are apt to form the most 
honorable anticipations. 



GREATNESS. 

There are different orders of greatness. Among these the 
first rank is unquestionably due to moral greatness, or mag- 
nanimity ; to that sublime energy by which the soul, smitten 
with the love of virtue, binds itself indissolubly, for life and 
for death, to truth and duty ; espouses as its own the interests 
of human nature ; scorns all meanness and defies all peril; 
hears in its own conscience a voice louder than threatenings 
and thunders; withstands all the powers of the universe, 
which would sever it from the cause of freedom, virtue, and 
religion ; reposes an unfaltering trust in God in the darkest 
hour, and is ever "ready to be offered up" on the altar of its 
country or of mankind. 

Next to moral, comes intellectual greatness, or genius in 
the highest sense of that word; and by this we mean that 
sublime capacity of thought, through which the soul, smitten 
with the love of the true and the beautiful, essays to compre- 
hend the universe, soars into the heavens, penetrates the 
earth, penetrates itself, questions the past, anticipates the fu- 
ture, traces out the general and all comprehending laws of 
nature, binds together by innumerable affinities and relations 
all the objects of its knowledge ; and, not satisfied with what is 
finite, frames to itself ideal excellence, loveliness and grandeur. 
Next comes the greatness of action ; and by this we mean the 
sublime power of conceiving and executing bold and extensive 
plans : constructing and bringing to bear on a mighty object a 
complicated machinery of means, energies, and arrangements, 
and accomplishing great outward effects. 



SHOET EXTRACTS. 207 



SHAKSPEARE'S SENSIBILITY. 

Shakspeare's sensibility is in proportion with his other 
gifts. His heart is as great and as strong as his mind. He 
feels the beauty and the worth of things as truly and as deep- 
ly as he discerns their relations; is alive to the slightest and 
equal to the strongest impression. He sympathizes, calmly 
yet intensely, with all that he finds and nil that he makes ; he 
loves all things ; his soul gushes out in warm virgin-like affec- 
tion over aU the objects of his contemplation, and embraces 
them in its soft, heavenly radiance. He discerns a soul, a 
pulse of good even in things that are evil ; knows, indeed, that 
nothing can exist utterly divorced from good of some sort : 
that it must have some inward harmony to hold it in existence. 
To this harmony, this innate, indestructible Vv^orth, his mind 
is ever open. He is, therefore, a man of universal benevo- 
lence ; wishes well of all things ; will do his best to benefit 
them : not, indeed, by injuring others, but by doing them 
justice ; by giving them their due, be they saints or be they 
sinners. He is strictly and inexorably impartial, and even 
shows his love of perfect justice by shedding the sunshine and 
the rain of his genius alike on the just and on the unjust. For 
his feelings are the allies, not the rivals, of his other powers; 
exist in sympathy, not in antagonism with them, and therefore 
never try to force or tempt him from his loyalty to truth. 
Many think him deficient in moral sensibility ; whereas, in fact, 
he shows the perfection of such sensibility in altogether pre- 
ferring truth to them both ; for there is really nothing more 
vicious or more vitiating than, what some people seem greatly 
in love with, the attempting to teach better morality than is 
taught by nature and Providence. 

THE GRExiTNESS OF WASHINGTON". 

Great he was, preeminently great, whether we regard him 
sustaining alone the whole weight of campaigns all but des- 
perate, or gloriously terminating a just warf ire by his re- 
sources and his courage ; presiding over the jarring elements 
of his political council, alike deaf to the storms of all extremes, 



208 YOICE AND ACTION. 

or directing the formation of a new government for a great 
people, the first time that so vast an experiment had ever 
been tried by man; or, finally, retiring from the supreme 
power to which his virtue had rais, d him over the nation he 
had created, and wliose destinies he had guided as long as his 
aid was required, — retiring with the veneration of all parties, 
of all nations, of all mankind, in order that the rights of men 
might be conserved, and that his example never might be 
appealed to by vulgar tyrants. 

This is the consummate glory of Washington ; a triumphant 
warrior where the most sanguine had a right to despair ; a suc- 
cessful ruler in all the difficulties of a course wholly untried ; 
but a warrior, whose sword only left its sheath when the first 
law of our nature commanded it to be drawn ; and a ruler who, 
having tasted of supreme power, gently and unostentatiously 
desired that the cup might pass from him, nor would suffer 
more to wet his lips than the most solenm and sacred duty to 
his country and his God required ! 

To his latest breath did this great patriot maintain the 
noble character of a captain, the patriot of peace ; and a states- 
man, the friend of justice. 

THE LIGHT OF ^TELLEOT. 
Magnificent indeed, was the material creation, when, sud- 
denly blazing forth in mid space, the new-born sun dispelled the 
darkness of the ancient night. But infinitely more magnificent 
is it when the human soul rays forth its subtler and swifter 
beams ; when the light of the senses irradiates all outward 
things, revealing the beauty of their colors, and the exquisite 
symmetry of their proportions and forms; when the light of 
reason penetrates to their invisible properties and laws, and 
displays all those hidden relations that make up all the sciences ; 
when the light of conscience illuminates the moral world, 
separating truth from error, and virtue from vice. The light 
of the newly-kindled sun, indeed was glorious. It struck upon 
all the planets, and waked into existence their myriad capaci- 
ties of life and joy. As it rebounded from them, and showed 
their vast orbs all wheeling, circle beyond circle, in their stu- 
pendous courses, the sons of God shouted for joy. 



SHORT EXTRACTS. 209 

But the light of the human soul flies swifter than the light 
of the sun, and outshines its meridian blaze. It c;in embrace 
not only the sun of our sy>tem, but all suns and galaxies of 
suns; aye! tlie sonl is capable of knowing and of enjoying 
Him who created the suns themselves ; and when these starry 
lustres that now glorify the firmament shall wax dim, and 
fade away like a wasted taper, the light of the soul shall still 
remain ; nor time, nor cloud, nor any power but its own per- 
versity, shall ever quench its brightness. Again I would say, 
that whenever a human soul is born into the world, God stands 
over it and pronounces the same sublime fiat, " Let there be 
light!" And may the time soon come, when all human 
governments shall co6p.rare with the divine government in 
carrying this benediction and baptism into fulfillment. 



me:n" of PRmciPLE. 

Sometimes, in unfamiliar countries, the traveller finds him- 
self shrouded in fog and the way so hidden, the features of the 
country so singularly changed from the reality, that he cannot 
safely move. But if some friendly mountain side lets him as- 
cend a few hundred feet above, he finds himself suddenly in a 
clear atmosphere with a blue sky and a shining sun. Below him 
the smaller objects that misled and bewildered him lie hidden ; 
before him stand out, salient and clear, the leading ridges and 
great outlines of the country which point out to him the right 
way, and show him where he may reach a place of security and 
repose for the night, and he goes on his journey confidently. 
And so it is with those men who devote their lives, unflinchingly 
and singly, to the public good — to the maintenance of principles 
and the advocacy of great reforms. They live in a pure atmos- 
phere. And such ought also to be the character of the men 
whom we elevate to our high places. Eaised into that upper 
air, and charged with the general safety, they are expected to 
be impersonal; they are expected to see over and beyond the 
personal ambitions and individual interests which of necessity 
influence men acting individually ; their horizon is universal, 
and they see broadly defined the great principles which lead a 



210 VOICE AND ACTION". 

nation continuously on to a settled prosperity and a sure 
glory. And as a condition of our material safety we should 
see to it that only such men are put in such places — men capa- 
ble of receiving a conviction and realizing a necessity — men 
able to comprehend the spirit of the age and the country in 
which we live, and fearless in working up to it. 



LIMIT TO HUMAN DOMINION 

God has given the land to man, but the sea He has reserved 
to Himse'f. "The sea is His, and He made it." He has 
given man " no inheritance in it ; no, not so much as to set his 
foot on." If he enters its domain, he enters it as a pilgrim and 
a stranger. He may pass over it, but he can have no abiding 
place upon it. He cannot build his house, nor so much as pitch 
his tent within it. He cannot mark it with his lines, nor subdue 
it to his uses, nor rear his monuments upon it. It steadfastly 
refuses to own him as its lord and master. Its depths do not 
tremble at his coming. Its waters flee not when he appeareth. 
All the strength of all his generations is to it as a feather 
before the whirlwind; and all the noise of his commerce, and 
all the thunder of his navies, it can hush in a moment within 
the silence of its impenetrable abysses. Whole armies have gone 
down into that unfathomable darkness, and not a floating bub- 
ble marks the place of their disappearing. If all the popula- 
tions of the world, from the beginning of time, were cast into 
its depths, the smooth surface of its oblivion would close over 
them in an hour ; and if all the cities of the earth, and ail the 
structures and monuments ever reared by man, were heaped 
together over that grave for a tombstone, it would not break 
the surface of the deep, or lift back their memory to the light 
of the sun and the breath of the upper air. The sea would roll 
its billows in derision, a thousand fathoms deep, above the top- 
most stone of that mighty sepulchre. The patient earth sub- 
mits to the rule of man, and the mountains bow their rocky 
heads before the hammer of his power and the blast of 
his terrible enginery. But God alone controls the mighty 



SHOET EXTRACTS. 211 

THE CITY OF OUR LIBERTY. 

But now that our service of commemoration is ended, let 
us go hence and meditate on all that it has taught us. You 
see how long the holy and beautiful city of our liberty and our 
power has been in building, and by how many hands, and at 
what cost. You see the towering and steadfast height to 
which it has gone up, and how its turrets and spires gleam in 
tbe rising and setting sun. You stand among the graves of 
some — your townsmen, your fathers by blood, whose names 
you bear, whose portraits hang up in your homes, of whose 
memory you are justly proud — who helped in their day to 
sink those walls deep in their beds, where neither frost nor 
earthquake might heave them, — to raise aloft those great 
arches of stone, — to send up those turrets and spires into the 
sky. It was theirs to build; remember it is yours, under 
Providence, to keep the city, to keep it from the sword of the 
invader, to keep it from licentiousness and crime and irre- 
ligion, and all that would make it unsafe or unfit to live in, 
to keep it from 4116 fires of faction, of civil strife, of party 
spirit, that might burn up in a day the slow work of a thousand 
years of glory. Happy, if we shall so perform our duty that 
they who centuries hence shall dwell among our graves may 
be able to remember, on some such day as this, in one common 
service of grateful commemoration, their fathers of the Jirst 
and the second age of America, those who through martyrdom 
and tempest and battle sought liberty, and made her their 
own, and those whom neither ease nor luxury, nor the fear of 
man, nor the worship of man, could prevail on to barter her 
away ! 

THE AMBITION OF WEBSTER. 

Mr. Webster was an ambitious man. He desired the 
highest ofiice in the gift of the people. But on this subject, as 
on all others, there was no concealment in his nature. And 
ambition is not a weakness unless it be disproportioned to the 
capacity. To have more ambition than ability is to be at once 
weak and unhappy. "With him it was a noble passion, because 
it rested upon noble powers. He was a mau cast in a heroio 



212 VOICE AND ACTION. 

mould. His thoughts, Lis wishes, his passions, his aspirations, 
were all on a grander scale than those of other men. Unex- 
ercised capacity is always a source of rusting discontent. The 
height to which men may rise is in proportion to the upward 
force of their genius, and they will never be calm till tliey 
have attained their predestined elevation. Lord Bacon says, 
"As in nature things move violently to their place and calmly 
in their place, so virtne in ambition is violent, in authority, 
settled and calm." Mr. Webster had a giant's brain and a 
giant's heart, and he wanted a giant's work. He found repose 
in those strong conflicts and great duties which crush the 
weak and madden the sensitive. He thought that, if he w^ere 
elevated to the highest place, he should so administer the gov- 
ernment as to make the country honored abroad, and great 
and hnppy at home. He thought, too, that he could do some- 
thing to make us more truly one people. This, above every- 
thing else, was his ambition. And we, who know him better 
than others, felt that it was a prophetic ambition, and we 
honored and trusted him accordingly. 

CALIFOKNIA. 

It is a trite saying, that we live in an age of great events. 
!N'othing can be more true. But the greatest of all events of 
the present age is at hand. It needs not the gift of propliecy 
to predict that the course of the world's trade is destined soon 
to be changed. But a few years can elapse before the com- 
merce of Asia and the islands of the Pacific, instead of pur- 
suing the ocean track, byway of Gape Horn or the Cape of 
Good Hope, or even taking the shorter route of the Isthmus 
of Darien, or the Isthmus of Tchuantepec, will enter the 
Golden Gate of California, and deposit its riches in our own 
city. Hence, on bars of iron, and propelled by steam, it will 
ascend the mountains and traverse the desert; and having 
again reached the confines of civilization, will be distributed, 
through a thousand channels, to every portion of the Union, 
and of Europe. New York will then become what London 
now is — the great central point of exchange, the heart of trade, 
the force of whose contraction and expansion will be felt 



SHORT EXTEACTS. 213 

tlirougliout every artery of the commercial world ; and San 
rranciseo wiU then stand the second city of Ameiica. Is this 
visionary? Twenty years will determine. 

The world is interested in our succ;:^ss ; for a fresh field is 
opened to its commerce, and a new avenue to the civllizaiion 
and progress of the human race. Let us, then, endeavor to 
realize the hopes of Americans, and the expectations of the 
world. Let us not only be united amongst ourselves, for our 
own local welfare, but let us strive to cement the common 
bonds of brotherhood of the whole Union. In our relations to 
the Federal Government, let us know no South, no North, no 
East, no West. Wherever American Liberty flourishes, let 
that be our common country ! Wherever the American ban- 
ner waves, let that be our home ! 



THE CLASSICS. 

He who studies English literature without the lights of 
classical learning, loses half the charms of its sentiments and 
style, of its force and feeling^^, of its delicate touches, of its 
delightful allusions, of its illustrative associations. Who that 
reads the poetry of Gray, does nut feel that it is the refinement 
of classical taste which gives such inexpressible vividness and 
transparency to his diction? Who that reads the concentrated 
sense and melodious versification of Dryden and Pope, does 
not perceive in them the disciples of the old school, whose 
genius was inflamed by the heroic verse, the terse satire, and 
the playful wit of antiquity? Who that meditates over the 
strains of Milton does not feel that he drank deep at 

"Siloa's brook, that flowed 
Fast by the oracle of God, • " 

that the fires of his magnificent mind were lighted by coals 
from ancient altars? 

It is no exaggeration to declare, that he who proposes to 
abolish classical studies, proposes to render, in a great measure, 
inert and unedit'ying the mass of Engli;;h literature for three 
centuries; to rob us of the glory of the past, and much of the 
instruction of future ages ; to blind us to excellencies which 



214 VOICE AND ACTION. 

few may hope to equal, and none to surpass; to annihilate 
associations which are interwoven with our best sentiments, 
and give to distant times and countries a presence and reality, 
as if they were in fact his own. 



PUBLIC INSTRUOTIOl^. 

I know not what more munificent donation any govern- 
ment can bestow than by providing instruction at the public 
expense, not as as a scheme of charity, but of municipal policy. 
If a private person deserves the applause of all good men, who 
founds a single hospital or college, how much more are they 
entitled to the appellation of public benefactors, who plant a 
school of letters ! Other monmnents of the art and genius of man 
may perish, but these, from their very nature, seem, as far as 
human foresight can go, absolutely immortal. The triumphal 
arches of other days have fallen ; the sculptured columns have 
crumbled into dast ; the temples of taste and religion have sunk 
into decay ; the pyramids themselves seem but mighty sepul- 
chres hastening to the same oblivion to which the dead they 
cover have long since passed. But here, every successive gen- 
eration becomes a living memorial of our public instruction, 
and a living example of its excellence. Never, never may this 
glorious institution be abandoned or betrayed by the weakness 
of its friends or the power of its adversaries ! It must forever 
oount in its defence a majority of all those who ought to in- 
fluence public affairs by their virtues or their talents ; for it 
must be that here they fir^t felt the divinity of knowledge stir 
within them. What consolation can be higher, what reflection 
prouder than the thought that in weal or woe our youth are 
under the public guardianship, and may here gather the fruits 
of that learning which ripens for eternity! 



TRUE GLORY. 

Whatever may be the temporary applause of men, or the 
expressions of public opinion, it may be asserted, without fear 
of contradiction, that no true and permanent fame can be 



SHORT EXTRACTS. 215 

founded, except in labors which promote the happiness of man- 
kind. 

Wolfe, the conqueror of Quebec, has attracted, perhaps, 
a larger share of romantic history than anj of the gallant ge- 
nerals in English History. We behold him, yet young in years, 
at the head of an adventurous expedition, destined to prostrate 
the French Empire in Canada, — guiding and encouraging the 
firmness of his troops in unaccustomed difiiculties,— awakening 
their personal attachment by liis kindly suavity, and their 
ardor by his own example, — climbing the precipitous steeps 
which conduct to the heights of the strongest fortress on tlie 
American continent, — there, under its walls, joining in deadly 
conflict, — wounded, — stretched upon the field, — f dnt with the 
loss of blood, — with sight already dimmed, — his life ebbing fast, 
cheered at last by the sudden cry that the enemy is fleeing in 
all directions, — and then his dying breath mingling with the 
shouts of victory. An eminent artist has portrayed this scene 
of death in a much-admired picture. History and poetry have 
dwelt upon it with peculiar fondness. Such is the glory of 
arms ! But there is, happily, preserved to us a tradition of 
tills day, which affords a gleam of a truer glory. As the com- 
mander floated down the currents of the St. Lawrence in his 
boat, under cover of the night, in the enforced silence of a 
military expedition, he was heard to repeat to himself that poem 
of exquisite charms — "Gray's Elegy," and as the ambitious 
warnor finished the recitation, he said to his companions, in a 
low but earnest tone, that he " would rather be the author of 
tliat poem tlian take Quebec." And surely he was right. The 
glory of that victory is already dying out, like a candle in its 
socket. The true glory of the poem still remains with star- 
bright, immortal beauty. 

PEESEYERANCE. 

The greatest is he who toils out his glorious sch?mes with 
invincible resolution, who resists the sorest temptations, who 
bears the heaviest disappointments ; who is fearless under 
menace and frown. 

We can fix our eyes on perfection, and make almost every- 



216 VOICE AND ACTION. 

thing speed us towards it. It matters not what and where we 
are now, but there is more of a, div^initj than in the force 
which impels the outward universe. How it slumbers in most 
men unperceived, unsuspected ! The thought to unfold all our 
powers and capacities, nobly, vigorously. 

We are to start with the conviction that there is something 
greater within us than in the whole material creation, than in 
all the worlds that press on the eye and ear. 

"We cannot only trace our powers, but guide them and impel 
them. A vigorous purpose makes much out of little, breathes 
power into weakness, disarms difElculties, and even turns them 
into assistants. A true faith, looking up to something better, 
catching glimpses of a distant future perfection, prophesying to 
ourselves a greatness, gives energy of purpose, gives wings to 
the soul, and this faith will continually grow and incrtase. Set 
your standard of knowledge high ; attempt great things, expect 
great things, and you will accomplish great things. 

BONAPAETE. 

One unacquainted with humnn nature would think an empire 
whose bounds extended to the Rhine, might have satisfied even 
an ambitious man. But Bonaparte obeyed that law of progress 
to which the highest minds are peculiarly subjected and acquisi- 
tion inflamed, instead of appeasing the spirit of dominion. He 
had long proposed to himself the conquest of Europe, of the 
world ; and the title of Emperor added intenseness to this pur- 
pose. Did we not fear that by repetition we might impair the 
conviction which Ave are most anxious to impress, we would 
enlarge on the enormity of the guilt involved in the project of 
universal empire. Napoleon knew distinctly the price which he 
must pay for the eminence which he coveted. He knew that the 
path to it lay over wounded and slaughtered millions, over pu- 
trefying heaps of his fellow-creatures, over ravaged fields, 
smoking ruins, pillaged cities. He knew that his steps would 
be followed by the groans of widowed mothers and famished 
orphans ; of bereaved friendship and despairing love, and that, 
in addition to this amount of misery, he would create an equal 
amount of crime, y multiplying indefinitely the instruments 



SnOKT EXTRACTS. 217 

and participators of bis raiDine and fraud. He knew tlie price 
and resolved to pay it. 

SELF- CULTURE. 

Every man in every condition is great. It is only our dis- 
eased sight which makes him little. A man is great, as a man, 
be he where, or what lie may. The grandeur of his nature 
turns to insignificance all outward d'stinciion^. It is the image 
of God, the image even of his infinity, for no limits can be set 
t»)its unfolding. He who possesses the divine powers of the 
soul is a great being, be his place what it may. 

Keal greatness has nothing to do with a man's sphere. It 
does not lie in the magnitude of his outward agency, in the ex- 
tent of the effects which he produces. Grandeur of character 
lies wholly in force of soul, — that is, in the force of thought, 
moral principles and love ; and this may be found in the hum- 
blest condition of life. It is force of thought which measures 
intellectual, and so it is force of principle which measures moral 
greatness — that highest of human endowments, that brightest 
manifestati )n of the Divinity. I believe this greatness to be 
most common among the multitude, whose names are never 
heard. Among common people will be found more of hardships 
borne manfully, more of unvarnished truth, more of religious 
trust, more of that irenerosity which gives what the giver needs 
himself, and more of a wise estimate of life and death, than 
among the prosperous. 

HEEOISM. 

Courage in one thing does not mean courage in everything. 
A man who will face a bullet will not face an audience. Hero- 
ism is the o'rigitiality of action. 

A cool, easy confidence is the source of daring. '' Trust 
yourself : every heart vibrates to that iron string." Men of 
all conditions do grow and die in obscurity, who, in suitable cir- 
cumstances, might have attained to the temple which shines afar. 
The hearts of Roman moth.^rs beat an unnoted lifetime in dim 
parlors. Souls of fire mi^s their hour and languish into ashes. 
10 



218 YOICE AND ACTION. 

"Who is there that has not thougLt, over and over again, what 
else he could have done, what else he could have been ? Vani- 
ty, indee;], may dupe ns here, and self-teuderness be too ready 
to look upon the misspending of years as anything but our own 
feult, Eepard for a moment the manner in which a vast pro- 
portion of those who, from independency of fortune, and from 
their educr.tion, are able to do most good in the world, spend 
their time, and say if there be not an immense proportion of 
the capability of mankind undeveloped. Many straggle for a 
while against the represive influences of opinion and society, 
but at length yield to the powerful temptations, to nonentity. 
The social despotism presents the fetes with which it seeks to 
solace and beguile its victims ; and he who began to put on his 
arm;;r for the righting of many wr ;ngs, is soon content to smile 
with those who smile. Thus daily do generations ripe and rot 
in life unemployed, the great mission unperformed. 

MOEAL TASTE. 

To the man whose taste has been formed on just principles, 
and who has been led to perceive and relish what is truly 
beautiful, a new world is opened. He looks abroad over na- 
ture and contemplates the productions of art, with sentiments 
to which those who are destitute of tl)is faculty are strangers. 
He perceives in the works of God, and in the contrivances of 
man, all the ntility for which they were destined and adapted 
in common with others ; but besides this, his heart is filled 
with sentiments of the beautiful or the grand, according to the 
nature of the object. It is in literature that taste, in the more 
common use of the word, has its most extensive sphere, and 
most varied gratifications; yet, whether it be exercised on na- 
ture, the fine arts, or literature, we are aware how much de- 
pends on associations with life, feeling, and human character. 
Why does the traveller wander with such peculiar interest 
over the mountains and plains of Italy and Greece, but because 
every spot is consecrated by the memory of great events, or 
presents to him the memorials of departed genius ? It is for 
this reason that poetry peoples even solitude and desolation 
with imaginary life ; so that in ancient days, every forest had 



SHORT EXTRACTS. 219 

its dryads, every fountain its nympliis, and the voice of the 
naiads was heard in the tnnrmuring of the streams. It is part- 
ly in reference to the same principle that deserts and moun' 
tains, Avhere all is barrenness and solitude, raise in tlie mind 
emotions of subhmity. It is a feeling of vastness and desola- 
tion that depends in a great degree on the absence of every- 
thing having life or action. The mere modifications of nature 
are beautiful, the human form from its just proportions, the 
human face from the harmonious combination of features and 
coloring ; but it is only when this form is living and moving, 
and when this face is suffused with emotion and animated 
with intelligence, when the attitude and the look alike express 
the workings of the heart and mind, that we feel the perfect 
sentiment of beauty. 

SKETCH OF WEBSTER. 

Earnestness, solidity of judgment, elevation of sentiment, 
broad and generous views of national policy, and a massive 
strength of expression, characterize all his works. We feel, 
in reading them, that he is a roan of principles, not a man of 
expedients ; that he never adopts opinions without subjecting 
tliem to stern tests ; and that he recedes from them only at the 
bidding of reason and experience. He never seems to be play- 
ing a part, but always acting a life. 

The ponderous strength of his powers strikes us not 
more forcibly than the broad individuality of the man. Were 
we unacquainted with the history of his life, we could almost 
infer it from his works. Everything, in his productions, indi- 
cates the character of a person who has struggled fiercely 
against obstacles, who has developed his faculties by strenuous 
labor, who has been a keen and active observer of man and 
nature, and who has been disciplined ih the affairs of the 
world. There is a manly simplicity and clearness in his mind, 
and a rugged energy in his feelings, which preserve him from 
all the affectations of literature and society. 

He is great by original constitution. Wbat nature origi- 
nally gave to him, nature has to some extent developed, 
strengthened, and stamped with her own signature. We never 



220 VOICE AND ACTION. 

consider him as a mere debater, a mere scholar, or a mere 
statesman ; but as a strtmg, sturdy, earnest man. 

NATIONAL ALLEGIANCE. 

Every individual of every nation, barbarian or civilized, is 
bound by allegiance to the supreme authority w^hich presides 
over that nation, whether it be king, emperor, grand duke, 
sultjin, or constitutional republican government. Society with- 
out allegiance is anarchy ; government without allegiance is 
a mockery; pjople without allegiance are a mob. 

Allegiance in its proper sense, can be exacted only by the 
supreme power^ which, in this land, is the Government created 
by the Constitution of the United States. This allegiance may 
not be put on and off, to suit the convenience and whims of 
the individual, as he may assume or cast off State citizenship. 
Once due, it is always due, unless the national Government 
consent to its renunciation. The native-born citizen owes it, 
from the cradle to the grave ; tlie naturalized foreigner, from 
the moment he acquires citizenship till his death. No such 
obligation exi>ts towards a State. A State's power over any 
citizen begins only with his entrance upon her territory, and 
ends with his departure from it. The United States have an 
undoubted and indestructible right to call forth their citizens 
from every spot of their domain, to defend and uphold in bat- 
tle the honor and power of the nation ; for no citizen can find 
a place where the title of allegiance does not bind him to the 
Constitution and flag of his country. 

The citizen owes allegiance in return for protection by his 
government, and that protection is his lawful right, wherever 
in the world he may be. It was the certainty and swiftness 
of Rome's vindication of the rights of her citizens, that gave 
such power everywhere to the simple words, "/am a Roman 
citizen ; " and this hour, among all civilized nations, to be 
known as an American citizen, is a pa=^sport and protection. 
Why ? Because the United States are known throughout the 
world, as able and ready to protect their citizens. But on 
another continent than this, what would it avail to be known 
as a citizen of any State of the Union ? Who, in a foreign 



SHOET EXTRACTS. 221 

land, would, in extremity, proclaim himself a citizen of one of 
the States, when his State has no power to protect him or to 
avenge his wrongs, except through the Government of the 
Union ? 

DUTY OF LITERARY MEJT TO THEIR COUNTRY. 

TVe cannot honor our country with too deep a reverence ; 
we cannot love her with an affection too pure and fervent ; 
we cannot serve her with an energy of purpose or a faithfulness 
of zeal too steadfast and ardent. And. what is our country? 
It is not the East with her hills and her valleys, with her 
countless sails and the rocky rampiiPts of her shores. It is 
not the Nortli, with her thousand villages, and her harvest- 
home, with her frontiers of the lake and the ocean. It is not 
the West, with her forest-sea and her inland-i^^les, with her 
luxuriant expanses, clothed in the verdant corn, with her 
heautiful Ohio and her mrtjestic Missouri. Nor is it yet the 
South, opulent in the mimic snow of the cotton, in the rich 
plantations of the rustling cane, and in the golden robes of the 
rice-field. What are these hut the sister families of one greater^ 
letter, holier^ family^ — oue country ? We cannot think too 
highly of that country, or sacrifice too mucli for her. And 
let us never forget, — let us rather retnember with a rehgious 
awe, — that the union of these States is indispensable to our 
Literature, as it is to our national independence and civil 
liberties, — to our prosperity, happiness, and improvement. 

American Literature will find that the intellectual 

SPIRIT IS HEE VEET TEEE OF LIFE, AND THE UnION HEE GaE- 
DEN OF PaEADISE. 

MORALITY, THE FOU^TDATION OF NATIONAL 
GREATNESS. 

When we look forward to the probable growth of this 
country ; when we think of the millions of human beings who 
are to spread over our present territory ; of the career of im- 
provement and glory open to this new people ; of the impulse 
which free institutions, if prosperous, may be expected to give 



222 VOICE AND ACTION. 

to pliilosopliv, religion, science, literature and arts ; of the vast 
field in v^hicli the experiment is to be made, of what the unfet- 
tered powers of man may achieve ; of the bright page of his- 
tory which our fathers have fiPed, and of the advantages under 
which their toils and virtues have placed us fur carrying on 
their work ; — when we think of all this, can we Iselp, for a 
moment, surrendering ourselves to bright visions of our coun- 
try's glory, before which all the glories of the past are to fade 
away ? 

Is it presumption to say, that, if just to ourselves and all 
nations, we shall be felt through this whole continent, that we 
shall spread our language, institutions, and civilization, through 
a wider space than any nation has yet filled with a like benefi- 
cent influence ? And are we prepared to barter these hopes, 
this sublime moral empire, for conquests by force ? Are we 
prepared to sink to the level of unprincipled nations, to content 
ourselves with a vulgar, guilty greatness, to adopt in our youth 
maxims and ends which must brand our future with sordidness, 
oppression, and shame ? This country cannot, without peculiar 
infamy, run the common race of national rapacity. Our origin, 
institutions, and position are peculiar, and all favor an upright,- 
honorable course. 

THE WISE AND GOOD. 

The relations between man and man cease not with life. 
The dead leave behind them their memory, their example, and 
the eflPects of their actions. Their influence still abides with 
US. Their names and characters dwell in thoughts and hearts. 
"We enjoy the benefits of their labors. Our institutions have 
been founded by them. Our knowledge and our arts are the 
fruits of their toil. "We are most intimately connected with 
them by a thousand dependencies. 

Creatures of imitation and sympathy as we are, we look 
around us for support and countenance even in our virtues, 
We recur for them, most securely, to the examples of the dead. 
There is a degree of insecurity and uncertainty about living 
worth. The stamp has not been put upon it which precludes 
all change, and seals it up as a just object of admiration 



SHORT EXTEACTS. 223 

for future times. There is no service wliich a man of com- 
manding intellect can rentier his fellow-creatures better than 
That of leaving behind him an unspotted example. If he do 
not confer upon them this benefit; if he have a character dark 
with vices but dazzling with shining qualities, it may be that 
all his other services had better have been forborne, and he 
had passed inactive and unnoticed through life. It is a dictate 
of wisdom, therefore, as well as feeling, when a man eminent 
for his talents has been taken away, to collect the riches of 
his goodness and add them to the treasury of human improve- 
ment. 



USES OF GREAT MEN. 

It is natural to believe in great men. If the companions 
of our childhood should turn out to be heroes, and their con- 
dition regal, it would not surprise us. 

ITatnre seems to exi-t for the excellent. The world is up- 
held by the veracity of good men; they make the earth whole- 
some. Life is sweet and tolerable only in onr belief in such 
society, and actually, or ideally, we manage to live with 
superiors. 

The search after the great is the dream of youth, and the 
most serious occupation of manhood. 

Life is a scale of degrees. Between rank and rank of great 
men are wide intervals. Mankind have, in all ages, attached 
themselves to a few persons, who, either by the quality of that 
idea they embodied, or by the largeness of their reception, 
were entitled to the position of leaders and law givers. These 
teach us the qualities of primary nature, — admit us to the con- 
stitution of things. These men correct the delirium of the 
animal spirits, make us considerate, and engage ns to new aims 
and powers. The veneration of mankind selects these for the 
highest place. Witness the multitude of statues, pictures and 
memorials which recall their genius in every city, village and 
house. Happy if a few names remain so high, that we have 
not been able to read them nearer, and age and comparison 
have n )t robbed them of a ray. But, at last, we shall cease to 



224 VOICE AND ACTIOjS-. 

look in men for completeness, and shall content ourselves "with 
their social and delegated quality. 

"WRITERS. 

Nature will be reported. All things are engaged in writing 
their history. The planet, the pebble goes attended by its 
shadow. The rolling rock leaves its scratches on the moun- 
tain; the river its channel in the soil; the animal its bones in 
the stratum; the f rn and leaf, their modest epitaph in the 
coal. Tlie falling drop makes its scnlpture in the sand or the 
stone. ITot a foot steps in the snow or along the ground, but 
prints in characters more or less lasting, a map of its march. 
Every act of man inscribes itself in the memories of its fellows, 
and in his own manners and face. The air is full of sounds ; 
the sky, of tokens; the ground is all memoranda and signatures ; 
and every object covered over with hints, which speak to the 
intelligent. 

In nature this self registration is incessant, and the narra- 
tive is the print of the seal. It neither exceeds nor comes 
short of the fact. But nature strives upward, and, in man, the 
report is something more than print of the seal. It is a new 
and finer form of the original. The record is alive, as that 
which is recorded is alive. In man, the memory is a kind of 
looking-glass, which, having received the images of surround- 
ing objects, is touched with life, and disposes them in a new 
order. Man loves to communicate. Men were born to write. 

Society has no graver interest tlian the well-being of the 
literary class. And it is not to be denied that men are cordial 
in their recognition and welcome of intellectual accomplish- 
ments. 

The world is young; the former great men call to us 
affectionately. The secret of genius is to suffer no fiction to 
exist for us; to realize all that we know ; in the high refine- 
ment of modern life, in arts, in sciences, in books, in men, to 
exact good faith, reality, and a purpose; and first, last, midst, 
and without end, to honor every truth by use. 



SHOET EXTEACTS. 225 

OEATORS. 

Oratory does not unf Id all its powers, in the midst of 
peace and general prosperity. Great questions must agitate 
men's minds; deep passions must be awakened; vast expecta- 
tions excited. It was so with the two great orators of 
antiquity. They did not live in the palmy state of their 
respective repuhlics. Liberty was about to make her last 
struggle, and these men appeared as her chosen champions. 
They trium[>hed in her triumphs. Their most heroic efforts 
were made to avert her fall, and their sublimest strains poured 
out at her bier. They lived with the daily consciousnt. ss that 
on their single ai-m hung interesrs, often too mighty for com- 
putation. The same Providence, which raised them up to 
give the world assurance of the power and perfection of 
oratory, poured into their hearts the fire, the enthusiasm, the 
unyielding devotion to their purpose which compels success. 
Liberty they might not save, but they could immortalize her 
ruin. The resistless progress of an invader or a tyrant they 
might not be able to stay ; but they could mingle the wither- 
ing and undying flames of their eloquence even with his 
triumphs, and thus consign him, at the very moment of his 
proudest success, scatlied and blackened, to the scorn and 
execration of mankind. 

TTe meet with no modern orators who seem contented 
with nothing short of perfecrion ; who shrink iwm no toil ; 
and who at length, after incredible pains, have succeeded in 
enshrining their conceptions in forms so exquisite, that criti- 
cism is disarmed, and universal admiration is compelled. 

LAFAYETTE. 

There are few men whose history partakes so largely of the 
spirit of romance and chivalry as that of Lafayette. At the 
age of nineteen years he left his country and espoused the 
cause of the American colonies. His motive for this conduct 
must have been one of the noblest that ever actuated the heart 
of man. He was in pospession of large estate?, allied to tlie 
highest orders of French nobility, surrounded by friends and 
10* 



226 VOICE AND ACTION. 

relatives, witli prospects of future distinction and favor as fair 
as ever opened to the ardent view of aspiring ambitious youth. 
Yet he left his friends, his country, his prospects of distinction, 
to assist a nation in its struggle for freedom, and at a time too, 
when the prospects of that country's success were dark, dis- 
heartening, and almost hopeless. He fought for that country, 
he fed and clothed her armies, he imparted of his wealth to 
her poor. He saw her purposes accomplished, and her govern- 
ment established on the principles of liberty. He refused all 
compensation for his services. He returned to his native land, 
and engaged in contests for liberty there. He was imprisoned 
by a foreign government, suffered every indignity and every 
cruelty that could be inflicted, and lived, after his release, 
almost an exile, on the spot where he was born. More than 
forty years after he first embarked in the cause of American 
liberty he returned to see once more his few surviving com- 
panions in arms, and was met by the grateful salutations of 
the whole nation. It is not possible to reflect on these facts 
without feeling our admiration excited to a degree that almost 
borders on reverence. 

"WASHINGTON 

Homer rose in the dawn of Greek culture, Virgil flourished 
in the court of Augustus, Dante ushered in the birth of the new 
European civilization, Copernicus was reared in a Polish 
cloister, Shakespeare was trained in the green room of the 
theatre,Milton was formed while the elements of English thought 
and life were fermenting towards a great political and moral 
revolution, Newton under the profligacy of the restoration. Ages 
may elapse before any country will produce a man like these, as 
two centuries have passed since the last mentioned of them were 
born. But if it is really a matter of reproach to the TJnited 
State?, that in the comparatively short period of their existence 
as a people, they have not added another name to the illus- 
trious list (which is equally true of all the other nations of 
the earth,) they may proudly boast of one example of life and 
character, one career of disinterested service, one model of 
public virtue, the type of human excellence, of which all the 



SHOKT EXTRACTS. 227 

countries and all the ages may be searched in vain for the 
par.illel. I need not — on this day I need not — speak the 
peerless name. It is stamped on your hearts, it glistens in 
your eyes, it is written on every page of your history, on the 
battle-fields of the Revolution, on the monuments of your 
fathers, on the portals of your Capitols. It is heard in every 
breeze that whispers over the fields of independent America. 
And he was all our own. lie grew upon the soil of America; 
he was nurtured at her bosom. She loved and trusted him in 
his youth ; she honored and revered him in his age ; and though 
she did not wait for death to canonize his name, his precious 
memory, with each succeeding year, has sunk more deeply 
into the hearts of his countrymen. 



HOME AND SCHOOL INFLUENCE ESPECIALLY NEC- 
ESSARY IN TIME OF WAR. 



The grand march of humanity stops not in its course even 
for war. From the cradle to the coffin, the crowding columns 
move on with lock-step through the successive stages of life. 
Childhood cannot halt in its progress for returning peace to 
afford leisure for education. On into the years — to manhood, 
to citizenship, to destiny — it rushes, whetljer learning lights 
its path and guides its steps, or ignorance involves it in error 
and conducts it headlong into vice. And if in peace the 
school is needful to rear our children to an intelligent and 
virtuous manhood, how much greater the need when war, 
with its inseparable barbarism^ is drifting the nation from its 
onward course of peaceful civilization, back to the old realms 
of darkness and brute force. 

High and heroic aims mitigate the evils which necessarily 
attend an appeal to arms. To say nothing of the physical 
liealth and prowess that camp life and military discipline 
develops, the love of country and love of liberty rise again 
from mere holiday sentiments to the grandeur ynd power of 
national passions, and the Union, made doubly precious by the 
blood V, hicli its maintenance may cost, attains a strength that 



228 VOICE AND ACTION. 

110 mortal force can shake or destroy. History grows heroic 
again, and humanity itself is inspired and glorified with fresh 
vindication of its God-given rights and duties, in a new incar- 
nation and triumph of the principles of Constitutional and 
Eepublican liberty. 

But with all this, the barbarisms of war are too palpable 
and terrific to be forgotten or disregarded, and the wise and 
patriotic statesman will find in them a more urgent reason for 
fostering those civilizing agencies which nourish the growing 
intelligence and virtue of the people. Against the ideas and 
vices engendered in the camps, and amidst the battle-fields, 
must be raised still higher the bulwarks of virtuous habits and 
beliefs, in the children yet at home. We need the utmost 
stretch of home and school influence to save society and the 
state from the terrible dominations of military ideas and 
military forces, always so dangerous to civil liberty and free 
government. 

THE PROBLEM FOE THE UNITED STATES. 

The Union cannot expire as the snow melts from the rock, 
or a star disappears from the firmament. When it fulls the 
crash will be heard in all lands. Wherever the winds of 
heaven go, that will go, bearing sorrow and dismay to mil- 
lions of btriken hearts ; for the subversion of this Government 
will render the cause of constitutional liberty hopeless through- 
out the world. What nation can govern itself, if this nation 
cannot ? What encouragement will any people have to estab- 
lish liberal institutions for themselves, if ours fail ? Provi- 
dence has laid upon us the responsibility and the honor of 
solving that problem in which all coming generations of men 
have a profound interest — whether the true ends of govern- 
ment can be secured by a popular representative system. 
Never before was a people so advantageously situated for 
working out this great problem in favor of human liberty; 
and it is important for us to understand that the world so re- 
gards it. 

If, in the frenzy of our base sectional jealousies, we dig 
the grave of the Union, and thus decide this question in the 



SHORT EXTRACTS. 229 

negative, no tongue may attempt to depict tlie disappointment 
and despair which will go along with the announcement as it 
spreads through distant lands. It will be America, after fifty 
yeai-s' experiei:ce, giving in her adhesion to the doctrine that 
man was not made for self-government. It will be freedom 
herself proclaiming that freedom is a chimera; Liberty ring- 
ing her own knell, all over the globe. And, when the citizens 
or subjects ot the governments which are to succeed this Union 
shall visit Europe, and see, in some land now struggling to 
cast off its fetters, the lacerated and lifeless form of Liberty 
laid prostrate under the iron heel of Depotism, let them re- 
member that the blow which destroyed her was inflicted by 
their own country. 

THE POWER OF. HEROIC EXAMPLE. 

"We must not forget the specific and invaluable influence 
exerted on the spirit of a people by those examples of signal 
heroism and chivalrous self-devotion for which a magnani- 
mous war gives occasion, and which it exalts, as peace cannot 
before men's minds. 

Such examples become great powers in civilization. Elo- 
quence delights to rehearse and unpress them. The songs of 
a nation repeat their story, and make their triumph sound 
again through the silver cymbals of speech. Le;iends prolong 
and art commemorates them. Language itself takes new images 
from them; and words that are themselves "half-battles," 
are suddenly born at their recital. The very household life 
is exalted; and the humblest man feels his position higher, 
and expresses his sense of it in a more dauntless bearing, as ho 
sees that heroism still lives in the world ; that men of his own 
race and stuff, perhaps of his own neighborhood even, have 
faced so calmly such vast perils. 

And by and by we shall see more clearly than now we 
can, the great influence thus exerted on our own national 
career. When at last from the thunder and flame on the top 
of the mount the nation comes, as come it will, with its very 
face shining from the heat and the splendor which it there has 
encountered, then shall it appear as it cannot before, that no 



230 VOICE AXD ACTION. 

life hath been more productive than that which closed before 
its prime, sprinkling with blood the stony steeps of this ascent I 
Then shall it appear that the delicate hands which have 
changed silk gloves for iron gauntlets have swept thereby the 
chords which vibrate into answers that distant ages still shall 
hear ! Yea, then shall it appear that never yet was forum 
reared, or senate chamber builded to be the fit and equal 
theatre for eloquence so thrilling and so majestic as that impe- 
rial eloquence of great deeds which shook the soul of the 
whole people from the thundering bluffs this side of Leesburg ! 
Better than new Californias every year are such examples to 
a nation that would be noble! Its very language and life 
must be lost before their force shall have ceased to inspire it. 



AMERICAN NATIOl^ALITY. 

By the side of all antagonisms, higher than they, stronger 
than they, there rises colossal the fine sweet spirit of nation- 
ality, the nationality of America! See there the pillar of fire 
which God has kindled and lifted and moved for our hosts 
and our ages. Gaze on that, worship that, worship the highest 
in that. Between that light and our eyes a cloud for a time 
may seem to gather ; chariots, armed men on foot, the troops 
of kings may march on us, and our fears may make us for a 
moment turn from it; a sea may spread before us, and waves 
seem to hedge us up ; dark idolatries may alienate some hearts 
for a season from that worship ; revolt, rebellion, may break 
out in the camp, and the waters of our springs may run bitter 
to the taste and mock it ; between us and that Canaan a great 
river may seem to be rolling ; but beneath that high guidance 
our way is onward, ever onward ; those waters shall part, and 
stand on either hand in heaps ; that idolatry shall repent ; 
that rebellion shall be crushed ; that stream shall be sweet- 
ened ; that overflowing river shall be passed on foot dryshod, 
in harvest time ; and from that promised land of flocks, fields 
tents, mountains, coasts, and ships, from north and south, and 
east and west, there shall swell one cry yet, of victory, peace, 
and thanksgiving ! 



SHOET EXTEACTS. 231 

INFLUENCE OF REVOLUTIONS. 

Think nationality first as a spring of feeling, as a motive 
to exertion, as blessing your country, and as reacting on you. 
Think of it as it fills your mind and quickens your heart, and 
as it fills the mind and quickens the heart of millions around 
you. Instantly, under such an influence, you ascend above the 
smoke and stir of this small local strife; you tread upon the 
high places of the earth and of history; you think and feel as 
an American for America ; her power, her eminence, her con- 
sideration, her honor, are yours ; your competitors, like hers, 
are kings ; your home, like hers, is the world ; your path, like 
hers, is on the highway of empires; our charge, her charge, 
is of generations and ages ; your record, her record, is of 
treaties, battles, voyages, beneath all the constellations ; her 
image, one, immortal, golden, rises on your eye as our western 
star at evening rises on the traveller from his home ; no low- 
ering cloud, no angry river, no lingering spring, no broken 
crevasse, no inundated city or plantation, no ti-acts of sand, 
arid and burning, on that surface, but all blended and softened 
into one beam of kindred rays, the image, harbinger, and 
promiser of love, hope, and a brighter day ! 

But if you would contemplate nationality as an active 
virtue, look around you. Is not our own history one witness 
and one record of what it can do ? This day and all which it 
it stands for, — did it not give us these? This glory of the 
fields of that war, this eloquence of that revolution, this one 
wide sheet of flame which wrapped tyrant and tyranny and 
swept all that escaped from it away, forever and forever ; the 
courage to fight, to retreat, to rally, to advance, to guard the 
young flag by the young arm and the young heart's blood, to 
hold up and hold on till the magnificent consummation crowned 
the work, — were not all these imparted or inspired by this 
imperial sentiment ? 

THE NATIONAL ENSIGN. 

Sir, I must detain you no longer. I have said enough, and 
more than enough, to manifest the spirit in which this fiag is 



232 VOICE AND ACTION. 

now committed to your charge. It is tlie national ensign, 
pure and simple ; dearer to all our hearts at this moment, as 
we lift it to the gale, and see no other sign of hope upon the 
storm-cloud which rolls and rattles above it, save that which- 
is reflected from its own radiant hues ; dearer, a thousand- 
fold dearer to us all, thaa ever it was before, while gilded by 
the sunshine of pro-perity, and playing with the zephyrs of 
peace. It will speak for itself far more eloquently than I can 
speak for it. 

Behold it! Listen to it! Every star has a tongue; every 
stripe is articulate. There is no language or speech where 
their voices are not heard. There's magic in the web of it. 
It has an answer for every question of duty. It has a solution 
for every doubt and perplexity. It has a word of good cheer 
for every hour of gloom or of despondency. 

Behold it ! Listen to it ! It speaks of earlier and of later 
struggles. It speaks of victories, and sometimes of reverses, 
on the sea and on the land. It speaks of patriots and heroes 
among the living and the dead : and of him, the first and 
greatest of them all, around whose consecrated ashes this un- 
natural and abhorrent strife has so long been raging — " the 
abomination of desolation standing where it ought not." But 
before all and above all other associations and memories — 
whether of glorious men, or glorious deeds, or glorious places 
— its voice is ever of Union and Liberty, of the Constitution 
and the Laws. 



THE PERPETUITY OF THE UNIOl^. 

Give up the Union ? Fevee ! The Union shall endure, 
and its praises shall be heard when its friends and its foes, 
those who support, and those who assail, those who bare their 
bosoms in its defence, and those who aim their daggers at its 
heart, shall all sleep in the dust together. Its name shall be 
heard with veneration araid the roar of the Pacific's waves, 
away upon the river of the North and East where liberty is 
divided from monarchy, and be wafted in gentle breezes upon 
the Rio Grande. It shall rustle in the harvest and wave in 



SHOET EXTRACTS. 233 

the stcanding corn, on the extended prairies of the West, and 
be heai-d in the bleating folds and lowing herds upon a thou- 
sand hills. It shall be with those who delve in mines, and 
shiill hum in the manufactories of ^sTew England, and in the 
cotton-gins of the South. It shall be proclaimed by the Stars 
and Stripes in every sea of enrth, as the American Union, one 
and indivisible ; upon the great thoroughfares, wherever 
steam drives, and engines throb and shriek, its greatness and 
perpetuity shall be hailed with gladness. It shall be lisped 
in the earliest words, and ring in the merry voices of child- 
hood, and swell to Heaven upon the scmg of maidens. It shall 
live in the stern resolve of manhood, and rise to the mercy- 
seat upon woman's gentle availing prayer. Holy men shall 
invoke its perpetuity at the altars of religion, and it shall be 
whispered in the last accents of expiring age. 

OUR HEROIC DEAD. 

There is a hist')ry in almost our every home which will 
never be written ; but the memory of kindred has it embalmed 
forever. The representatives (>f the pride and hope of un- 
counted households, departing will return no more. The shaft 
of the archer, attracted by the shining mark, numbers them 
among his fallen. And, beyond the Atlantic slope, every 
battle-field hns drunk the blood of our sons. Officers and 
enlisted men have vied with each other in deeds of valor. 
This flag, whose standard-bearer, shot down in battle, tossed 
it from his dying hand nerved by undying patriotism, has been 
caught by the comrade, who in his turn has closed his eyes 
for the last time upon its starry folds as another hero-martyr 
clasped the splintered stafif and rescued the symbol at once of 
country and of their blood-bought fame. 

How can fleeting words of human praise gild the record of 
their glory? Our eyes suffused with tears, and blood retreat- 
ing to the heart, stirred with unwonted thrill, speak with the 
eloquence of nature, uttered but unexpressed. From the din of 
the battle, they have passed to the peace of eterniry. Fare- 
well! warrior, citizen, patriot, lover, friend; whether in the 
humbler ranks or bearing the sword of official power, whether 



234 VOICE AND ACTION. 

private, captain, surgeon, or chaplain, for all these in the 
heavy fight have passed away. Hail! and Farewell! Each 
hero must sleep serenely on the field where he fell in a cause 
"sacred to liberty and the rights of mankind." 

HON-QR TO OUR HEEOES. 

The heart swells with unwonted emotion when we remem- 
ber our sons and brothers, whose constant valor has sustained 
on the field, during nearly three years of war, the cause of 
our country, of civilization and liberty. The muse herself 
demands the lapse of silent years to sofien, by the influences 
of time, her too keen and poignant realization of the scenes 
of war, the pathos, the heroism, the fierce joy, the grief of 
battle. But during the ages to come, she will brood over their 
memory. Into the hearts of her consecrated ones will breathe 
the inspirations of lofty and undying beauty, sublimity, and 
truth, in all the glowing forms of speech, of literature and 
plastic art. By the homely traditions of the fireside, by the 
headstones in the churchyard consecrated to those whose 
forms repose far off in rude graves by the Eappahannock, or 
sleep beneath the sea, embalmed in the memories of succeed- 
ing generations of parents and children, the heroic dead will 
live on in immortal youth. 

POLITICAL MORALITY. 

Remember that the greatness of our country is not in its 
acliievement, but in its promise, a promise which cannot be 
fulfilled without that sovereign moral sense, without a sensitive 
national conscience. If it were a question of the mere daily 
pleasure of living, the gratification of taste, opportunity of 
access to the great intellectual and aesthetic results of human 
genius, imd whatever embellishes human life, no man could 
hesitate for a moment between the fulness of foreign lands in 
these respects, and the conspicuous poverty of our own. "What 
have we done? We have subdued and settled a vast domain. 
"We have made every inland river turn a mill, and wherever, 
on the dim rim of the globe, there is a harbor, we have lighted 



SHORT EXTEACTS. 235 

it with an American sail. We have bound the Atlant'c to the 
Mississippi, so tljat we drift from the sea to the prairie upon a 
cloud of vapor; and we are stretching one hand across the 
continent to fulfil the hope of Columbus in a shorter way to 
Cathay, and with the other we are grasping under the sea to 
clasp there the hand of the old continent, that so the throbbing 
of the ocean may not toss us further apart, but be as the beat- 
ing of one common pulse of the world. 

Yet these are the results common to all national enterprise, 
and different with us only in degree, not in kind. These are 
but the tools with which to shape a destiny. Commercial 
prosperity is only a curse, if it be not subservient to moral and 
intellectual progress; and our prosperity will conquer us, if we 
do not conquer our prosperity. 



OUK COUl^TEY'S GREATEST GLORY. 

The true glory of a nation is in an intelligent, honest, 
industrious Christian people. Tlie civilization of a people 
depends on their individual character; and a consritutioii 
which is not the outgrowth of this character is not worth the 
pirchment on which it is written. You look in vain in the 
past for a single instance where the people have preserved 
their liberties after their individual character was lost. 

The tru3 glory of a nation is in the living temple (f a loyal, 
industrious, and upright people, 'ihe busy click of machinery, 
tlie merry ring of the anvil, the lowing of peaceful herds, and 
the song of the harvest-home, are sweeter music than paeans 
of departed glory, or songs of triumph in war. The vine-clad 
cottage of the hill-side, the cabin of the woodsman, and the 
rural home of the farmer, are the true citadels of any country. 
There 1^ a dignity in honest toil which belongs not to the dis- 
play of wealth or the luxury of fashion. The man who drives 
the plough, or swings his axe in the forest, or with cunning 
fingers plies the^ tools of his craft, is as truly the servant of 
his country as the statesman in the senate or the soldier in 
battle. The safety of a nation depends not ahme on the wis- 
dom of its statesmen, or the bravery of its generals. The 



236 VOICE A]!fD ACTION. 

tongue of eloquence never saved a nation tottering to its fall; 
the svs^ord of a vfarrior never stayed its destruction. 

Would you see the image of true glory, I would show you 
villages where the crown and glory of the people was in 
Christian schools, where the voice of prayer goes heaven-ward, 
where the people have that most prictless gift^ faith in God. 



LOVE OF OOUFTEY. 

Next to the worship of the Father of us all, the deei^est 
and grandest of human emotions is the love of the land that 
gave us birth. It is an enlargement and exaltation of all the 
tenderest and strongest sympathies of kindred and of home. 
In all centuries and climes it has lived, and defied chains and 
dungeons and racks to crush it. It has strewed the earth with 
its monuments, and has shed undying lustre on a thousand 
fields on which it has battled. Through the night of ages, 
Thermo}:>yl8e glows like some m!)untain peak on which the morn- 
ing sun has risen, because twenty-three hundred years ago, 
this hallowing pa'^sion touched its mural precipices and its 
crowning crags. It is e sy, however, to be patriotic, in piping 
times of peace, and in the sunny hour of prosperity. It is 
national sorrow — it is war, with its attendant perils and hor- 
rors, that tests this passion, and winnows from the masses 
those who, with all their love of life, still love their country 
more. We honor commerce with its busy marts, and the 
workshop with its patient toil and exhaustless ingenuity, but 
still we would be unfaithful to the truth of history did we not 
confess that the most heroic champions of human freedom and 
the most illustrious apostles of its princii)les have come from 
the broad fields of agriculture. There seems to be something 
in the scenes of nature, in her wild and beautiful landscapes, 
in her cascades and cataracts, and waving woodlands, and in 
the pure and exhilarating airs of her hills and mountains, that 
umbraces the fetters which man would rivet upon the spirit of 
his fellow-man. It was at the handles of the plow, and amid 
the breathing odors of its newly-opened furrows, that the char- 
acter of Cincinnatus was formed, expanded, and matured. It 



SHORT EXTRACTS. 237 

was not in the city full, but in the deep gorges and upon the 
snow-clad summits, of the Alps — amid the eagles and the thun- 
ders, that "William Tell laid the foundations of those altars to 
human liberty against which the surging tides of European 
despotism have beaten for centuries, but thank God, have 
beaten in vain. 



LOYALTY TO LIBERTY OUR ONLY HOPE. 

The love of country is the gift of God — it cannot dwell in 
homes of sin, it has no abi Ung place in siioons of vice or dens 
of infamy, it belongs not to infidel club? or fanatical conventions, 
they would tear down the sacred edifice which they have never 
loved ; they are impatient for change, for in the seething cal- 
dron of rebellion they are brought to the surface. With 
nothing to lose, they have no fear of the days of terror ; their 
only dread is in the majesty of the law. The love of country 
belongs to a God-fearing people ; it is seen in the purity of pri- 
vate life, in the privacy of Christian homes, in the devotions of 
the closet, in the manliness of Christian character. The church 
is its nursing mother. Loyalty to God and to her insitutions 
is her first and last lesson; it is the earnest cry of her loyal 
children '^ that peace and happine-s, truth and justice, religion 
and piety, may be established among us for all generations." 
The love of country belongs to loyal men. The power of self- 
government depends upon a loyal people. 

The protection of the nation depends not on the wisdom of 
its senators, not on the vigilance of its police, not on the strong 
arm of standing armies : but the loyalty of a united people. 
Other nations have equalled us in all the arts of civilization, 
in discoveries, in science, in skill, and in invention : they have 
kept even step with us and often surpassed us in philosophy 
and literature ; they have been brave in war and wise in coun- 
cil ; they have clustered round their homes all that art can 
lavish of beauty — but ripe scholarship, cunning in art, or skill 
in invention never gave to the people a constitution. This is 
the outgrowth of a manly spirit of loyrJty. It teaches men 
duty — a right manly word for right manly men. 



238 VOICE AND ACTION. 



OUR GREAT INHERITAlsrCE. 

We.have tlie greatest country on the face of the earth. Let 
not our minds be so distracted by mere party strife and con- 
fusion that we shall see our government fall to pieces before 
our eyes, and sacrifice our country to our party, instead of be- 
ing ready at all times to sacrifice our party to our country. 
After we become the slave of party, we dare not, in the pre- 
sence of any danger to the country, turn our backs to our par- 
ties, and say that we have a country that demands our services, 
and to it we will give them. Are we now unable to do this? 
Have we lost this spirit ? has it gone from among us ? 

Providence has given this great country to us. Our wise 
and valiant forefathers gave us liberty and established a gov- 
ernment for us. liCt us take care of it — take care of the Con- 
stitution and the Union. That is all we require. We have 
before us the prospect of a glory unknown toother nations— 
a prospect in which oar land will become the glory of the 
earth. Neither Rome nor any of the great empires of antiqui- 
ty or of modern times can compare witli what we shall be at 
no didtant day. We aie now thirty millions strong, yet we have 
been but eighty years in existence as a free nation. From the 
year 1776 down to the present time, God Almighty has blessed 
us above all other people and all other nations. Where shall 
we be thirty years hence if such prosperity attend us ? A great 
nation of one hundred million souls, with not enough then to 
develop all our resources. Every man free to think, free to 
speak, free to act, free to work. What must this mighty free- 
dom produce with this mighty concurrence of hearts, of heads, 
of hands ! What navies, what armies, what cities ! 



FREE HOMES FOR FREE MEN". 

I would provide in our land policy for securing homesteads 
to actual settlers; and whatever bounties the government 
should grant to the old soldiers, I would have made in money 



SHOET EXTRACTS. 239 

and not in land warrants, wliich are bought in most cases by 
speculators as an easier and cheaper mode of acquiring the pub- 
lic lands. So thej only facilitate land monopoly. Tiie men 
who go forth at the call of their country to uphidd its stand- 
ard and vindicate its honor, are deserving, it is true, of a more 
substantial reward than tears to the dead and thanks to the 
livii)g ; but there are soldiers of peace as well as of war, and 
though no waving plume beckons them on to glnry or to death, 
their dying scene is often a crimson one. They fall leadmg 
the van of civilization along untrodden paths, and are buried in 
the dust of its advancing columns. 'Ro monument marks the 
scene of deadly strife ; no stone their resting place ; the winds 
sighing through the branches of the forest trees alone sing 
their requiem. Yet they are the meritorious men of the Ke- 
public — the men who give it strength in war and glory in 
peace. The achievments of your pioneer army, from the day 
they first drove back the Indian tribes from the Atlantic sea- 
board to the present hour, have been the achievements of science 
and civilization over the elements, the wilderness, and the 
savage. 

If rewards or bounties are to be granted for true heroism in 
the progress of the race, none is more deserving than the pioneer 
who expels the savage and the wild beast, and opens in the 
wilderness a home for science and a pathway for civiliazation. 



ALL VALUE CEI^TRES IN MIXD. 

Universal education, the culture of Qxevj mind born into 
tlie world, is necessary ; if this world was made for any pur- 
pose besides the glory of God (and to contribute to God's 
glory is to exalt and dignify mind), unless its creation was an 
accident or a blunder, it was formed to be the schoolhouse of 
the race, to minister in its various forms of harmony, beauty, 
and sublimity, to the necessities of tlie souls that have been 
placed in it. It is for this that the mountain shoots up from 
the plain, and stands in majesty against the distant sky; for 
this the earth puts on her gorgeous robes of spring and sum- 
mer; for this the sea is spread out in beauty when the winds 



240 VOICE AND ACTION. 

are hushed, or is rouseu into terrific sublimity when the tem- 
pest is abroad ; for this the heas'^ens put on their star-decked 
mantle, and make the night more glorious than the day; for 
this planets and suns move with merisured and obedient step 
through an extent of space that appals even the mind to which 
it ministers; for this all nature, like a grand instrument, wirh 
infinite variety of parts and expression, has been uttering her 
voice; from the time when the morning stars sang together, 
and all the sons of God shouted for joy. Every tint of the 
rose, every sigh of the breeze, every glimpse of the sunshine, 
is laid as an offering upon the shrine of mind; and man, feeble 
and frail though he be, is admitted to a share of the magnifi- 
cent homage. 

We may depend upon it, there is nothing with which we 
have to do that is of so much consequence as mind. And, 
if so, it follows that all mind should be educated. This is 
the great duty of humanity. 



OUR SYSTEM OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTIOK SHOULD DIS- 
TINCTIVELY INCULCATE A LOVE OF COUNTRY. 

The true American patriot is ever a worshipper. The 
starry symbol of his country's sovereignty is to Mm radiant 
with a diviner glory than that which meets his mortal vision. 
It epitomizes the splendid results of dreary ages of experiments 
and failures in human government ; and, as he gazes upon its 
starry folds undulating responsive to the whispering winds of 
the upper air, it sometimes seems to his rapt spirit to recede 
further and further into the soft blue skies, till the heavens 
open, and angel hands plant it upon the battlements of 
Paradise. Its stars seem real; its lines of white symbol the 
purity of his heroic sires; those of red, their patriot blood 
shed in defense of the right. To defend that flag, is to him 
something more than a duty, it is a joy, a coveted privilege, 
akin to that which nerves the arm and directs the blow in 
defense of wife or child. To insult it, is worse than infamy ; 
to make war upon it, more than treason. 



SHOET EXTKACTS. 241 

A perfect civil government is the sublimest earthly symbol 
of Deity — indeed, such a government is a transcript of the 
divine will; its spirit and principles identical with those wih 
which he governs the universe. Its vigilance, care and pro- 
tection, are ubiquitous, its strong haiid is ever ready to raise 
the fallen, restrain tlie violent, and punish the aggressor. Its 
patient ear is bent to catch alike the complaint of the rich and 
strong, or the poor and weak, while unerring justice presides 
at the trial and settlement of every issue between man and 
man. 

Now, our government is not perfect, even in theory, ard 
still less so in practice; but it is good, and strong, and glorious 
enough to inspire a loftier patriotism than animates the people 
of any other nation. What element is wanting to evoke tlie 
passionate love and admiration of an American citizen for his 
country ? 



LIBERTY AND THE LIBEETY OF THE PRESS. 

Sir, the liberty of the press is the highest safeguard to aU 
free government. Ours could not exist without it. It is like 
a great, exulting and abounding river. It is fed by the dews 
of heaven, which distil their sweetest drops to form it. It 
gushes from the rill as it breaks from the deep caverns of the 
earth. It is augmented by a thousand aflluents, that dash 
from the mountain-top, to separate again into a thousand 
bounteous and irrigating steams around. On its broad bosom 
it bears a thousand barks. There genius spreads its purpling 
sail. There poetry dips its silver oar. There art, invention, 
discovery, science, morality and religion, may safely fmd 
securely float. It wanders through every land. It is a genial, 
cordial source of thought and inspiration, wherever it touches, 
whatever it surrounds. Upon its borders there grows every 
flovrer of grace, and every frnit of truth. Sir, I am not 
here to deny that that river sometimes oversteps its bounds. 
I am not here to deny that that stream sometimes becomes a 
dangerous torrent, and destroys towns and cities upon its bank. 
11 



242 VOICE AND ACTIOjS-. 

But I am here to say that, without it, civilization, humanitj, 
government, all that makes society itself, would disappear, and 
the world would return to its ancient barbarism. Sir, if that 
were possible, though but for a moment, civilizntion would 
roll the wheels ^f its car backward for two thousand years, 
and the fine conception of the poet would be realized : 

" As one by one, in dread Medea's train, 
Star after star fades off the ethereal plain, 
Thus at her fell approach and secret might 
Art after art goes out, and all is night. 
Philosophy, that leaned on heaven before, 
Sinks to her second cause, and is no more. 
Eeligion, blushii)g, veils her sacred fires, 
And, unawares, morality expires." 



A CATEGOEICAL COrRTSHIP. 



I sat one night beside a blue-eyed girl — 

The fire was out, and so, too, was her mother; 
A feeble flame around the lamp did curl, 

Making faint shadows, blending in each other ; 
'Twas nearly twelve o'clock, too, in November, 
She had a shawl on, also, I remember. 
Well, I had been to see her every n'ght 

For thirteen days, and had a sneaking notion 
To pop the question, thinking all was right, 

And once or twice had made an awkward motion 
To take her hand, and stammered, coughed and stuttered, 
But somehow nothing to the point had uttered. 
I thought this chance too good now to be lost ; 

I hitched my chair up pretty close beside her, 
Drew a long breath, and then my legs I crossed, 

Bent over, sighed, and for five minutes eyed her ; 
She looked as if she knew what next was coming, 
And with her foot upon the floor was drumming. 
I did'nt know how to begin, or where — 

I could'nt speak, the words were always choking; 
I scarce could move — I seemed tied in my chair — 



SHOKT EXTRACTS. 243 

I hardly breathed — 't was awfully provoking ; 
The perspiration from each pore was oozing, 
My heart and brain and limbs their power seemed losing. 

At length I saw a brindle tabby cat 
Walk purring up, inviting me to pat her ; 

An idea came, electric-like, at that — 
My doubts, like summer cloud?, began to scatter, 

I seized on tabby, though a scratch she gave me, 

And said, " Come, Puss, ask Mary if she'll have me ? " 
'Twas done at once — ^the murder now was out, 

The thing was all explained in half a minute ; 
She blushed, and turning pussy cat about. 

Said, " Pussy, tell him, yes! " Her foot was in it! 
The cat had thus saved me my category, 
And here's the catastrophe of my story. 

MUTTJAL ASSISTANCE. 

A man very lame was a little to blame, 

To stray far from his humble abode ; 
Hot, thirsty, bemired, and heartily tired, 

He laid himself down in the road. 

While thus he reclined, a man who was blind, 

Came by and entreated his aid: 
"Deprived of my sight, unassisted to-night, 

I shall not reach home, I'm afraid." 

" Intelligence give of the place where you live," 
Said the cripple, "perhaps I may know it ; 

In my road it may be, and if you'll carry me, 
It will give much pleasure to show it. 

" Great strength you have got, which alas ! I have not, 

In my legs so fatigued every nerve is ; 
For the use of your back, for the eyes which you lack, 

My pair shall be much at your service." 

Said the other poor man, " What an excellent plan I 
Pray get on my shoulders, good brother; 

I see all mankind, if they are but inclined, 
May constantly help one another," 



244 VOICE AND ACTION. 



THE OOUETIN . 

God makes sech nights, all white an' still, furz you can look 

or listen, 
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, all silence an' a^. glisten. 
Zekle crep' up, quite unbeknown, an' peeked in thru the 

winder, 
An' there sot Huldj, all alone, with no one nigh to hinder. 
A fire-place filled the room's one side with half a cord o' wood 

in,— 
There warn't no stoves till Comfort died, to bake ye to a 

puddin'. 
The wa'nat logs shot sparkles out toward the pootiest, bless 

her! 
An' leetle flames danced all about the chiny on the dresser. 
Agin the chimbley crookiiecks hung, and in amongst 'em 

rusted 
The ole queen's-arm that gran'ther Young fetched back from 

Concord busted. 
The very room, coz she was in, seemed warm from floor to 

ceilin', 
An' she looked full ez rosy agin ez the apples she was peelin'. 
'T was kin' o' kingdom come to look on sech a blessed cretur, 
A dogoose blushin' to a brook aint modester nor sweeter. 
He was six foot o' man, A 1, clean grit an' human natur, 
N'one could'nt quicker pitch a ton, nor dror a furrer straightor. 
He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, he'd squired 'em, danced 

'em, druv 'em, 
Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells, — all is, he couldn't love 

'em. 
But long o' her, his veins 'ould run all crinkly, like curled 

maple. 
The side she breshed felt full o' sun ez a south slope in Ap'il. 
She thought no v'ice had sech a swing as hisn in the choir ; 
My ! when he made Ole Hundred ring, she Tcnowed the Lord 

was nigher. 
An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, when her new meet- 
in-' bunnet 



SELECTIONS. 245 

Felt, soraeliow, thru its crown, a pair o' blue eyes sot upon it. 
Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some ! she seerrjed to 've gut 

a new soul. 
For she felt sartin-sure he 'd come, down to her very shoe- 
sole. 
She heerd a foot, an' knowed it, 'tu, a-raspin' on the scraper, — 
All ways to once her feelins' flew, like sparks in barnt-up 

paper. 
He kin' o' loitered on the mat, some doubtfle o' the sekle, 
Bis heart kep' goin' pity-pat, but hern went pity-Zekle. 
An' yit, she gin her cheer a jerk, ez though she wished him 

furder. 
An' on her apples kep' to work, parin' away like murder. 
" You want to see my Pa, I s'pose ? " " "Wal — no — I come 

designin' " — 
"To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es agin to-morrer's 

i'nin." 
To say why gals act so or so, or don't, would be presumin' ; 
Mebby to mean yes an' say no comes nateral to women. 
He stood a spell on one foot fust, then stood a spell on t' 

other. 
An' on which one he felt the wust, he couldn't ha' told ye, 

nuther. 
Says he, "I'd better call agin." Says she, "Think likely, 

Mister." 
That last word pricked him like a pin, an' — wal, he up an' 

kissed her. 
"When Ma, bimeby, upon 'em slips, Huldy sot, pale as ashes. 
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips, an' teary roun' the lashes. 
For she was jest the quiet kind, whose naturs never vary 
Like streams thet keep a summer mind snow-hid in Jenooary. 
The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued too tight for all ex- 

pressin', 
Till mother see how matters stood, an' gin 'em both her 

ble>sin'. 
Then her red come back, like the tide down to the Bay o' 

Fundy, 
An' all I know is, they was cried in meetin' come nex' Sun- 
day. 



246 VOICE AND ACTION. 



JONTEEL HOMME. 



Ill Angleterre, I vas vat you call de emigrant ; because in 
de revolution, ma foi ! ven my countree, dat I love so much, 
vant to cut off my head, I take to my feet, and run away very 
fast, so dat de guillotine can no cut short my valk over de sea 
■ — not at all. Here I make the montre, vat you call the vatch. 
I am de horologer, de clock-maker, and getde living by de tich. 
Mais dans Paris, in my own countree, I vas very large man, 
indeed ; vas nobleman, and stood very high indeed in de grand 
armee Royale. 

De oder day, I vas valk in vat you call you Park, and dere 
I see sit on de bench, un pauvre homme. He seem very 
hungry, very cold ; he looked very dirty, very ragged, and 
very poor, indeed — but he appear very jonteel man for all 
dat. I go to him, and I say to him — for I see in de twinkle 
of de eye he vas von Frenchman — vas rny countree -man : 
" Mon ami, my fiiend, my countree-man, for vat you sit on dis 
bench here, vy you not go to de cook-shop, de restaurateur, 
vere dey eat de beef and de mouton, and de sallad, and de 
pomme de terre ? " He say to me : "I am brave Frangais, 
I am jontil homme, — I am one of de first men in all France, 
but I am sans sous, point d'argent, I have not one single farth- 
ing dans tout le monde, not a penny in all de vorld, and no 
credit at all." 

Den he show me his pockets filled vid very large holes, but 
noting else; but he appear a very jontil-bomme for all dat. 
And all at vonce, immediately, instantment, in de half second, 
I recollect to have seen him in Paris, dress all in de silver and 
in de gold lace. Jontilhomme, or nobleman, I forget vich, 
but it vas all de same, I look again, — ma foi ! he have no lace 
but de rags, and no silver but de gray Lair dat. grow out of 
de hole in de top of his hat, like you see de pigeon claw stick 
out of de pie,-— but he vas a very jonteel homme for all dat. 

He make de graceful bow to me. Mon Dieu ! his knee 
come out of de pantaloon, and I see his great toe look at me 
out of de end of his boot. I say to him : My countree-man, 



SELECTIONS. 247 

mon ami, no d'argent, no credit, no dinner ! vat for you leave 
yon logement, den ? — vy you no take de refreshment, and de 
sleep in you bed? He say to me : " Ah, men ami ! I have no 
logement, no bed : I lodge in de open air, vere I pay no rent, 
and I sleep here : de bench is my mattrass, and de tree dat 
hangover my head de curtain." "Ma foi! no logement, no 
bed ! pauvre homme, my heart is melt vid de great big pity 
for you. My friend, my countree-man, I shall take you home 
to my maison, and give you de diner and de sleep for de night. 
My landlady is very particulaire, she no like de stranger to 
sleep in her domicile ; so, ve vill vait, and get de bon appetite 
till it is dark — den, you sail pull off you shoe, and ve vill steal 
up de stair, and nobody sail know dat you are dere." Veil, ve 
valk under de tree, and talk of de grand restaurateur vere dey 
have de five hundred dishes for dinner, at de splendid palace 
of de great monarque a Versailles, till at last it grow to de 
dark night — den, ve steal home to my logement, and I open de 
d.>or vid de littel key vat I have in my pocket; den I rub my 
slioe on de mat, and I leave de dirt ; mon cimi, my cuuntree- 
man, he rub his shoe on de mat, and he leave de sole dere — 
but he vas a very jonteel homme for all dat. Ve have de 
Lttel joke on his loss of de sole ; den I pull off my shoe, and 
dere is my stocking; mon ami, ray countree-man, he pull oft 
his shoe, and dere is only his foot : he have no stocking at all. 
Veil, ve have the littel joke because he have no stocking, and 
ve creep up de stair light as de feather, vidout anybody hear. 
Veil, ve get into my room, mon apartment, mon chainbre a 
lit ; dere I strike de light, make de fire, lay de cloth, and get 
my dinner from de cupboard . I pull out de large piece of 
bread, de neck of mouton dat vas boiled yesterday, and de 
great dish of soup dat I make hot ; and I say : " Now, mon 
ami, my countree-man, ve vill have de dinner." I get up for 
de cloth to put under my chin, dat I may no grease my frill 
vid de soup ; ma foi ! ven I come back to help myself dere is 
none! — mon ami, my countree-man, he has swallow it all up. 
Veil, ve have de littel joke about de soup, sure not to grease 
my frill now, and I go to take some mouton ; ma foi dere is 
only de bones ! mon ami, mon countree-man, he have eat up all 
de meat — but he vas a very jonteel man for all dat. Veil, vo 



248 VOICE AND ACTIOIS'. 

have de littel joke, nnd I langb a littel, on de wrong side of 
iny mouth, about my friend eat all de meat and leave me de 
bone : and I go to make shift vid de crust of bread — but, par- 
bleu ! dere is no bread at all ! mon ami, my countree-man, be 
eat all de bread vbile I eat de soup. Ve have not de littel 
joke dis time, and I content myself vid de cheese paring and 
de bit Of" salt. At last it come time to go to bed ; and I say : 
" Mon ami, my countree-man, ve vill aller coucher, put our 
heads in de night-cap." Veil, I pull olf iny coat, and dere is 
ray vaist-coat ; mon ami, my countree-man pull of his coat, ma 
foi! dere is no vaist-coat at all. I say : " Mon ami, my coun- 
tree-man, dere is de old sack de man bring vid de porame 
de terre. You shall make shift vid dat. Yell, he lay down 
on de potafoe sack, and I go to sleep. — In de morning I vake 
and look for mon ami, my countree-man ; — andparbleu! he is 
no dere ! I look and he is gone ! — I say I say I will put on 
my clothes and see if he is down stairs. I look for my tings 
and parbleu dey is no dere, no more is my hat, nor my stock- 
ing, nor my shoe, nor my anyting : but dere is de chapeau vid 
de hole in de top, de pantaloon out of de knee, de shoe dat 
have no sole, and very littel body, and de greasy, rusty, ragged 
habit of mon ami, my countree-man. Veil, I say, he has dress 
himself in all my tings by mistake; he have no money no 
credit, no logement; he make shift and sleep in my potatoe 
sack ; he get up vhile I sleep and run avay vid all my clothes ; 
it is all very bad, ma foi! — Veil! I make de fire vid his old 
clothes, and dey vere too bad for me, and I wrap myself up in 
de blanket and I tink I will go to vork ; ven, parbleu ! I find 
all de vatches dat vas left by my customers, because dey would 
not go, had all go vhile I vas asleep ! mon ami, my countree- 
man had taken dem vhile I vas dormi, and I vas ruin, and 
oblige to run avay — but he vas a very jont.el man for all dat. 

BILLY AND BETTY. 

As Billy and Betty were sparking one night, 

" Grammercy," said he, and turned pale with affright ; 

" Grammercy, dear Betty, a funeral is near, 

For a death-watch is ticking e'en now in my ear." 



SELECTIONS. 249 

Now Betty applied her left ear to his right, 
Pit-a-pat went her heart and her hair stood upright. 
Now while she was listening it happen'd just then 
The clock in the parlor began to strike ten. 

*' I hear it," cried Betty, and panted for breath ; 

" 'Tis surely a death-watch, a token of death, 
Alas, for us all, what terrible signs, 
Tray howls every night and the tabby cat whines. 

*' To-day I was spinning, and out flew a coal 
And here in my bran new gown burnt a hr.ge hole. 
Last week a hen crow'd, and to-day the cat dozed 
"With one eye wide open and the other fast closed. 

" Three times in the candle a coffin I've seen, 

Which signifies death, or pray what does it mean ?" 
*'To be sure it means death," replied Will with a groan, 
" Some one in this house will be dead very soon. 

" To-day when I put on the fire an old stick, 
A maggot was in it, I heard it go click. 
This moment a peach-tree is in second bloom, 
And the grass has decayed on the family tomb. 

" Last night when I rode by the church-yard alone 
A whippoorwil sat on the marble tombstone. 
At that instant a shooting star came 
Plump into the grave-yard and sparkled like time." 

" Oh ! dear," cried Betty, and seized Billy's arm : 
" Oh ! forgive me," said Will, " I don't mean any harm, 
But as I was saying, a death will take place, 
For the signs are as plain as the nose on my face. 

*' Last night as I was riding, old Dobbin ne'er scares. 
By the gate of the church-yard, he pricked up his ears; 
Then plunging aside — with a terrible snort — 
He stared at the yew-tree and breathed very short. 
11* 



250 VOICE AND ACTION. 

So I mumbled a prayer, and my bosom I crossed, 
For I knew that old Dobbin was spying a ghost." 
" Oh ! Billy, don't frighten me so, 
Good lack, don't you think the candle burns blue ? " 

*' As blue as my coat, and I wish I may die 
If I don't smell brimstone." " Oh ! dear, so do I." 
Now while they were staring with speechless affright 
A puff from the window extinguished their light. 

Each started and screamed, but sad to relate, 
Their stools were capsized on the tail of the cat. 
The cat squalled aloud, and the lovers both roar'd. 
Which roused up a dog in the corner that snor'd. 

And now there was barking, and mewing, and biting. 
And scratching, and squalling, and screaming, and fighting. 
This moment the old negro ran into the room. 
And by the light of the tire was seen thro' the gloom. 

They saw him half-clothed and blacker than night. 
With bright rolling eje-balls and teeth grinning white. 
And both in a panic dropt down on their knees. 
Crying, " Oh! sweet Mr. Devil, oh ! pray if you please." 

Old Cuffy replied, with a most ludicrous stare, 
" Why, I'se not de debbil, I'se Cuffy," '^ Why so you are ! " 
Thus ended the uproar, and thus ends the wrong; 
In short, to be brief, one should never be long. 



FORTITUDE OF THE INDIAN CHAEAOTEE. 

A party of the Seneca Indians came to war against the 
Katawbas, bitter enemies to each other. In the woods the 
former discovered a sprightly warrior belonging to the latter, 
hunting in their usual light dress : on his perceiving them, he 
sprang off for a hoUow rock four or five miles distant, as they 



SELECTIOJqS. 251 

intercepted him from running homeward. He was so ex- 
treniely swift, and skilful with the gun, as to kill seven of them 
in the running fight before they were able to surround and 
take him. They carried him to their country in sad triumph : 
but though he had tilled them with uncommon grief and 
shame for the loss of so mimy of their kindred, yet the love of 
martial virtue induced tliem to treat him, during their long 
journey, with a great deal more civility than if he had acted 
the part of a coward. 

The women and children, when they met him at their sev- 
eral towns, beat him and whipped him in as severe a manner 
as the occasion required, according to their law of justice; and 
at last he was formally condemned to die by the fiery torture. 
It might reasonably be imagined that what he had for some 
time gone through by being fed with a scanty hand, a tedious 
march, lying at night on the bare ground, exposed to the 
changes of the w^eather, with his arms and legs extended in a 
pair of rough stocks, and suffering such punishment on his 
entering into their hostile towns, as a prelude to those sharper 
torments to which he was destined, would have so impaired 
his health, and affected his imagination, as to have sent him to 
his long sleep, out of the way of any more sufferings. 

Prohably this would have been the case wiih the major 
part of white people under similar circumstances ; but I never 
knew this with any of the Indians ; and this cool-headed, 
brave warrior, did not deviate from their rough lessons of 
martial virtue, but acted his part so well as to surprise and 
sorely vex his numerous enemies: for when they were taking 
him unpinioned, in their wild parade, to the place of torture, 
which lay near the river, he suddenly dashed down those who 
stood in his way, sprung off, and plunged into the water, 
swimming underneath like an otter, only rising to take breath, 
till he reached the opposite shore. 

He ascended the steep bank, but though he had good 
reason to be in a hurry, as many of tlie enemy were in the 
water, and others running, like blood-hounds, in pursuit of 
him, and the bullets flying around him from the time he took 
to the river, yet his heart did not allow him to leave them 
abruptly. He chose to take leave in a formal manner, in 



252 VOICE AND ACTION. 

return for the extraordinary favors they had done, and intended 
to do him. So stopping a moment, he bid them defiance, in 
tlie genuine style of Indian gallantry, he put up the shrill 
warwlioop, as his last salute, till some more convenient oppor- 
tunity offered, and darted off in the manner of a beast broke 
loose from its torturing enemies. 

He continued his speed, so as to run, by about midnight 
of the same day, as far as his eager pursuers were two days in 
reaching. There he rested, till he happily discovered five of 
those Indians who had pursued him : he lay hid a little way 
off their camp, till they were sound asleep. Every circum- 
stance of his situation occurred to him and inspired him with 
heroism. He was naked, torn, and hungry, and his enraged 
enemies were come up with him; but there was everything 
to relieve his wants, and a fair opportunity to save his life, and 
get great honor and sweet revenge by cutting them off. Eoso- 
lution, a convenient spot, and sudden surprise, would effect the 
main object of all his wishes and hopes. 

He accordingly crept, took one of tlieir tomahawks, and 
killed them all on the spot, clothed himself, and took a choice 
gun, and ns much ammunition and provision as he could well 
carry in a running march. He set off afresh with a liiiht heart, 
and did not sleep for several successive nights, except when he 
reclined as usual, a little before day, with his back to a tree. 

As it were by instinct, when he found he was free from 
the pursuing enemy, he made directly to the very phice where 
he had been taken prisoner and doomed to the fiery torture, 
5)fter having killed seven of his enemies. The bodies of these 
he dug up, burnt them to ashes, and went home in safety with 
singular triumph. Other pursuing enemies came, on the even- 
ing of the second day, to the camp of their dead people, when 
the sight gave them a greater shock than they ever had known 
before. In their chilled war council they concluded that as 
he had done such surprising things in his defence before he 
was captivated, and even after that in his condidon, he must 
surely be an enemy wizard ; and that, as he was now well 
armed, he would destroy them all should they continue the 
pursuit ; they therefore very prudently returned home. 



SELECTIONS. 253 



DEFENCE OF LITERARY STUDIES IN MEN OF 
BUSINESS. 

Among the ca-iitions "which prudence and worldly wisdom 
inculcate on the young, or at least among those sober truths 
which experience often pretends to have acquired, is that dan- 
ger which is said to result from the pursuit of letters and of 
science, in men destined for the labors of business, for the 
active exertions of professional life. The abstraction of learn- 
ing, the speculations of science, and the visionary excursions 
of fancy, are fatal, it is said, to the study of common objects, 
to the habits of plodidng industry which ordinary business 
demands. The fineness of mind which is created or increased 
by the study of letters, or the admiration of the arts, is sup- 
posed to incapacitate a man for the drudgery by which pro- 
fessional eminence is gained ; as a nicely tempered edge 
applied to a coarse and rugged material is unable to perform 
w'.iat a more common instrument would have successfully 
achieved. A yonng man destined for law or commerce is 
advised to look only into his folio of precedents, or his method 
of book-keeping; and dulnees is pointed to his homage, as 
that benevolent goddess, under whose protection the honors 
of station and the blessings of opulence are to be attained ; 
while learning and genius are proscribed as leading their 
votaries to barren indigence and merited neglect. 

In doubting the truth of these assertions, I think I shall not 
enteitain any hurtful degree of skepticism, because the general 
current of opinion seems of late years to have set too strongly 
in the contrary direction : and one may endeavor to prop the 
falling cause of literature without being accused of blamable 
or dangerous partiality. 

In the examples which memory and experience produce of 
idleness, of dissipation, and of poverty, brought on by indul- 
gence of literary or poetical enthusiasm, the evidence must 
necessarily be <m one side of the question only. Of the few 
whom learning or genius has led astray, the ill success or the 
ruin is marked by the celebrity of the sufferer. Of the many 
who have been as dull as they were profligate, and as ignorant 



254 VOICE AND ACTION. 

as they were poor, the fate is unknown, from the insignificance 
of those by whom it was endured. If we may reason apriori 
on the matter, the chance, I think, should be on the side of 
literature. 

In young minds of any vivacity, there is a natural aversion 
to the drudgery of business, which is seldom overcome, till the 
effervescence of youth is allayed by the progress of time and 
habit, or till that very warmth is enlisted on the side of their 
profession, by the opening prospects of ambition or emolument. 
From this tyranny, as youth conceives it, of attention and 
of labor, relief is commonly sought from some favorite avoca- 
tion or amusement, for which a y(^ung man either finds or steals 
a portion of his time, either patiently plods through his task, 
in expectation of its approach, or anticipates its arrival by de- 
serting his work before the legal period for amusement is ar- 
rived. It may fairly be questioned whether the most innocent 
of those amusements, is either so honorable or so safe as the 
avocation of learning or of science. Of minds uninformed and 
gross, whom youthful spirits agitate, butfancy and feeling have 
no power to impel, the amusement will generally be either 
boisterous or effeminate, will either dissipate their attention or 
weaken their force. Tiie employment of a young man's vacant 
hours is often too little attended to by those rigid masters who 
exact the most scrupulous observance of the periods destined 
for business. The waste of time is undoubtedly a very calcu- 
lable loss of much higher denomination. The votary of study 
or the enthusiast of fancy, may incur the first, but the latter 
will be suffered chiefly by him whom ignorance or want of 
imagination has left to the grossness of mere sensual enjoy- 
ments. 

In this, as in other respects, the love of letters is friendly to 
sober manners and virtuous conduct, which in every profession 
is the road to success, and to respect, without adopting the 
common place reflections against some particular departments, 
it must be allowed that in mere men of business there is a cer- 
tain professional rule of right, which is not always honorable, 
and though meant to be selfish, very seldom profits. A supe- 
rior education generally corrects this, by opening the mind to 
different motives of action, to the feelings of delicacy, the sense 



selectio:n-s. 255 

of honor, and a contempt of wealth, when earned bj a deser- 
tion of those principles. 

To the improvement of our faculties as well as of our prin- 
ciples, the love of letters appears to be favorable. Letters 
require a certain sort of application, though of a kind very dif- 
ferent from that which business would lecommend. Granting 
that they v.i-e unprofitable in themselves, as that word is used 
in the language of the world, yet, as developing the powers of 
thought and reflection, they may be an amusement of some 
use, as those sports of children in which numbers are used to 
familiarize them to the elements of arithmetic. They give room 
for the exercise of that discernment, that comparison of objects, 
that distinction of causes which is to increase the skill of the 
physician, to guide the speculations of the merchant, and to 
prompt the arguments of the lawyer ; and though some pro- 
fessions employ but very few faculties of the mind, yet-there is 
scarce any branch of business in which a man who can think 
will not excel him who can only labor. We shall accordingly 
find, in many departments where learned information seemed 
of all qualities the least necessary, that those who possessed it 
in a degree above their fellows, have found, from that very 
circumstance, the road to eminence and wealth. 

But I must often repeat, that wealth does not necessarily 
create happiness, nor confer dignity; a truth which it may be 
thought declamation to insist on, which the present time seems 
particularly to require being told. 

The love of letters is connected with an independence and 
delicacy of mind, which is a great preservative agninst that 
servile homage which abject men pay to fortune ; nnd there is 
a certain classical pride, which from the society of Socrates 
and Plato, Cicero and Atticus, looks down with an honest dis- 
dain on the wealth-blown insects of modern times, neither en- 
lightened by knowledge nor ennobled by virtue. 

In the possession, indeed, of what he has attained in that rest 
and retirement from his labors, with the hopes of which his fa- 
tigues were lightened and his cares were smoothed, the mere 
man of business frequently undergoes suffering in-tead of finding 
enjoyment. To be busy as one ought is an easy art ; but to know 
ho.v to be idle is a very superior accomplishment. This difiS- 



256 VOICE AND ACTION. 

cnltj is much increased with persons to whom the habit of 
employment has ra de some active exertion necessary ; who 
cannot sleep contented in the torpor of indolence, or amu:e 
themselves witli those lighter trifles in which he, who inlierited 
idleness as he did fortune from his ancestors, has been accus- 
tomed to find auiu^ement. The miseries and misfortunes of 
the " retired pleasures " of men of business have been frequently 
matters of speculation to the moralist, and of ridicule to the 
wit. But he who has mixed general knowledge with profes- 
sional skill, and literary amusements with professional labor^ 
will have some stock wherewith to support him in idleness, 
some spring for his mind when unbent from business, some 
employment for tho?e hours which retirement and solitude has 
left vacant and unoccupied. Independence in the use of one's 
time is not the least valuable species of freedom. This liberty 
the man of letters enjoys; while the ignorant and the illiterate 
often retire from the thraldom of business only to become the 
slaves of languor, intemperance, or vice. 

But the situation in which the advantages of that endow- 
ment of mind, which letters bestow, are chiefly conspicuous, is 
old age, when a man's society is necessarily circumscribed, and 
his powers of active enjoyment are unavoidably diminished. 
Unfit for the bustle of aflfairs, and the amusements of his youth, 
an old man, if he has no source of mental exertion or employ- 
ment, often setiles into the gloom of melancholy and peevish- 
ness, or petrifies his feelings by habitual intoxication. From 
an old man whose gratifications were solely derived from those 
sensual appetites which time has blunted, or from those trivial 
amusements of which youth only can share, age has cut off 
almost every source of enjoyment. But to him who has stored 
his mind with the information, and can still employ it in the 
amusement of letters, this blank of life is admirably filled up. 
He acts, he thinks, he feels with that literary world whose so- 
ciety he can at all times enjoy. There is perhaps no state more 
capable of comfort to ourselves, or more attractive of venera- 
tion from others, than that which such an old age aflnords ; it 
is then the twilight of the passions, when they are mitigated 
but not extinguished, and spread their gentle influence over the 
evening of our day, in alliance with reason and in amity with 
virtue. Mackenzie* 



SELECTIONS. 257 

PSALM CXXXVII. 

(scotch TEKSION,) as read by EDWAED IRVING. 

By Babel's strenms we sat and wept | when Zion we thought 

on ; 
In midst thereof we hang'd our harps | the willow trees upon. 
For there a song required thev, | who did us captive bring: 
Our spoilers call'd for mirth and said, | a song of Zion sing. 

Ohow the Lord's smg shall we sit g | within a foreign land ? 
If thee, Jerusalem, I Ibrget, | skill part from my right hand. 
My tongue to my mouth's roof let cleave, | if I do thee forget, 
Jerusalem, and thee above | my chief joy do not set. 

Remember Edom's children. Lord, | who in Jerus'lem's days, 
Ev'n unto its foundation, | Eaze, raze it quite, did say. 
O daughter thou of Babylon, | near to destruction ; 
Bless'd shall be he that thee rewards, | as thou to us hast done. 

Yea, happy surely shall he be — thy tender little ones 
"Who shall lay hold upon, and them | shall dash against the 
stones. 

SLAIN AT SADOWA. — Bloomfield Jackson. 

The cannon were belching their last 

O'er the fields where the routed were flying, 

And shouting pursuers strode fast 

Through the heaps of the dead and the dying. 

"War's rage was beginning to wane ; 

The fierce cared no longer to strike ; 
And the good stooped to soften the pain 

Of victors and vanqui:?hed alike. 

A yellow-haired Austrian lad 
Lay at length on a shot-furrowed bank ; 

He was comely and daintily clad 
In the glittering dress of his rank. 



258 YOICE AND ACTION. 

Kot so white, though, his coat as his cheek, 
Nor so red the sash, crossing his chest, 

As the horrible crimson streak 

Of blood that had v^elled from his breast I 

His foes approached where he was laid, 
To bear him in reach of their skill ; 
Bat he murmured, " Give others your aid ; 
Bj our Fatherland ! let me lie still." 

At davyn they came searching again, 
To winnow the quick from the dead ; 

The boy was set free from his pain, 
And his faithful young spirit had fled. 

As they lifted his limbs from the ground, 
To hide them away out of sight, 

Lo ! under his bosom they found 

The flag he had borne through the fight. 

He had folded the silk he loved well, 
Lest a thread should be seen at his side : 

To wave it in triumph he fell ; 
To save it from capture he died. 

The head of the sternest was bared 
As they gazed on the shot-riven rag, 

And the hand of the hardiest spared 
To make prey of that Austrian flag. 

O'er the tomb of tlieir brother they bowed, 
With a prayer for a spirit as brave ; 

And they gave him the flag for a shroud 
In his narrow and nameless grave. 



SELECTIONS. 259 

THE CHILDEEX IN THE MOON. 

Hearken, child, unto a story ! 

For the moon is in the sky, 
And across her shield of silver, 

See ! two tiny cloudlets fly. 

Watch them closely, mark them sharply, 

As across the light they piss, — 
Seem they not to have the figures 

Of a little lad and lass ? 

See, my child, across tlieir shoulders 

Lie'? a little pole ! and lo ! 
Yonder speck is just the bucket, 

Swinging softly to and fro. 

It is said, these little children. 

Many and many a Summer night, 
To a little well far northward 

Wandered in the still moonlight. 

To the wayside well they trotted. 

Filled their little buckets there. 
And the Moon-man looking downwards, 

Saw how beautiful they were. 

Quoth the man, " How vexed and sulky 

Looks the little rosy boy ! 
But the little handsome maiden 

Trips behind him full of joy. 

To the well behind the hedgerow 

Trot the little lad and maiden ; 
From the well behind the hedgerow 

Now the little pail is laden. 

How they please me ! how they tempt me ! 

Shall I snatch them up to night ? 
Snatch them, set them here for ever, 

In the middle of my light ? 



260 VOICE AND ACTIOI^. 

Children, ay, and children's children 
Sho'.ild behold my babes on high, 

And my babes should smile for ever, 
Calling others to the sky ! " 

Thus the philosophic Moon-man 
Muttered many years ago. 

Set the babes with pole and bucket, 
To delight the folks below. 

Never is the bucket empty, 
Never are the children old; 

Ever when the moon is shining 
We the children may behold. 

Ever young and ever little, 
Ever sweet and ever fair ! 

When thou art a man, my darling, 
Still the children will be there ! 

Ever young, and ever little, 

They will smile when thou art old I 

When thy locks are thin and silver 
Theirs wall still be shining gold. 

They will haunt you from their heaven, 
Softly beckoning down the gloom — 

Smiling in eternal sweetness 
On thy cradle, on thy tomb I 



{By T. Buchanan Bead.") 
Fp from the South at break of day. 
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay; 
The affrighted air with a shudder bore, 
Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door, 
The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, 
Telling the battle was on once more, 
And Sheridan was twenty miles away. 



SELECTIONS. 261 

And wider still those billows of war 

Thunde-ed along the horizon's bar, 

And louder yet into "Winchester rolled 

The war of that red sea uncontrolled, 

Making the blood of the listener cold. 

As he thought of the stake in that fierj fra}^, 

And Sheridan twenty miles away. 



But there's a road from "Winchester town, 

A good, broad highway leading down ; 

And there, through the flush of the morning light, 

A steed, as black as the steeds of night, 

Was seen to pass as with eagle flight ; 

As if he knew the terrible need. 

He stretched away with his utmost speed; 

Hills rose and fell, but his heart was gay, 

"With Slieridan fifteen miles away. 



Still sprung from those swift hoofs thundering South, 
The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth, 
Or the trail of a con et sweeping fiister and faster, 
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster; 
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, 
Lnpatient to be where the battle-field calls ; 
Every nerve of the charger w^as strained to full play, 
With Slieridan only ten miles away. 

Under his spurning feet, the road 

Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 

And the landscape sped away behind, 

Like an ocean flying before the wind ; 

And the steed, like a bark fed with with furnace ire 

Swept on, with his wild eyes full of fire. 

But, lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire ; 

He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 

With Sheridan only five miles away. 



262 VOICE AND ACTION. 

The first that the General saw were the groiips 

Of stragglers and then the retreating troops; — 

"What was done— what to do — a glance told him both ; 

Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, 

He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzas, 

And the wave of retreat checked its course there because 

The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 

"With foam and with dust the black charger was gray ; 

By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils' play, 

He seemed to the whole great army to say ; 

" I have brought you Sheridan all the way 

From Winchester down to save the day ! '* 

■ Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan! 
Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man ! 
And when their statues are placed on high 
Under the dome of the Union sky, 
The American Soldiers' Temple of Fame, 
There with the glorious general's name 
Be it said in letters both bold and bright : 
Here is the steed that saved the day 
By carrying Sheridan into the fight. 
From Winchester — twenty miles away! " 



CLASSES— RE^DINaS. 



Persons desirous of forming classes for instruction, or wish- 
ing an evening's Enteetainment of Readings for the public, 
or in the social circle, are respectfully requested to address — 

J. E. FEOBISHER, 

New Toek. 



TESTi:]M:o2sri..^i_jS. 



Odd-Fellow's Hall was crowded to its utmost capacity, last 
night, to hear Mr. Feobishee and his class. All our teachers 
have taken lessons, besides many pupils in the High and Ward 
schools. — Zanesville Courier. 

We most cordially commend him as an able, efficient, and 
faithful teacher. — Graduating Gl ss and Juniors, Dartmouth 
College. 

Mr. Feobishee has given entire satisfaction, and we heartily 
recommend him as a very able teacher. — Students of Kenyon 
College. 

In our opinion he has few equals in this noble art, and we 
therefore commend him as a successful and industrious teacher. 
— Under Graduates and S udents of FranMin College. 

His Lecture before the Teacher's Association was received 
with rapturous applause. All were delighted. — Cleveland 
Daily Herald. 

^ye cheerfully recommend him as an efficient and faithful 
teacher of Elocution. — Students of Victoria College, Canada. 

Mr. Feobishee delivered his Lecture before the Institute to 
a delighted audience. — Port- Hope Guide, Canada. 



264 TESTIMONIALS. 

Mr. and Mrs. Feobisher gave their second entertainment 
before a large and well-filled house, and were loudly applauded. 
" Hagar," by Mrs. Frobishee, drew tears from the audience. 
Mr. Feobishee has foi-med a number of classes, several of 
which are composed of young ladies. He has a large one of 
the members of the Ontario Literary Society, which gives fine 
satisfaction. — Toronto Daily Glohe^ Canada. 

Mr. Feobishee has been lecturing for the last three nights 
to the largest audiences. One minute you could hear a pin 
drop, and the next his voice would be drowned in thunders of 
applause. — Bowmanville Statesman, Canada. 

As a whole, the Lecture and Eeadings by Mr. and Mrs. 
Feobishee were superior to anything of the kiiid we have had 
in Toronto for a considerable period. Mr. Feobishee is a 
lineal descendant of the great navigator, Sir Maetin Feobishee, 
of the time of Queen Elizabeth — Toronto Daily Olohe^ Canada. 

The Readings were of the highest order, and the applause 
which so continually broke in upon them must have been very 
encouraging to Mr. Feobishee. — Boston Daily Courier. 

Professor Feobishee is a strong advocate of the natural sys- 
tem of delivery, and affords in himself an excellent example of 
its superiority. His '* Bells" are exceedingly effective, and 
evince an astonishing power over the voice. — Montreal Daily 
Gazette. 

DAILY PAPEES OF NEW TOEK CITY. 

Dodworth's Hall was filled by an appreciative audience. 
The entertainment was a decided success. — World. 

The Readings at Dodworth Hall were attended by a highly 
intelligent audience, completely filling the room. The pieces 
were well selected, and were received with enthusiastic ap- 
plause. — Tribune. 

The Readings by Professor Feobishee, at Dodworth Hail, 
were well attended, and proved one of the most successful enter- 
tainments of the kind that has been given for some time. — 
Times, 



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